I Will Love Thee Still, My Dear
by Pemonynen
Summary: A letter, written in fear and posted by accident, changes everything as Mary and Matthew rediscover their friendship during the war. S2 AU sequel to 'In Flanders Fields'.
1. Chapter 1

_This is the sequel to the one-shot I wrote a couple of weeks ago, __In Flanders Fields__. Originally, I wasn't going to write one, but a couple of days after posting IFF, I woke up and this was already planned, and I just had to write it, so here we are! I do have to say a big thank you to __**Orangeshipper**__, who has been incredibly encouraging and supportive with this and assured me that I'm not crazy for wanting to write it._

_I will say that if you haven't read IFF, you might want to; otherwise some of this might not make much sense…_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

**I Will Love Thee Still, My Dear.**

Chapter 1

_14__th__ December 1914_

"A letter for you Mary," Robert handed her the small envelope, looking at the handwriting curiously as she took it from him. She glanced at it, frowning in confusion, before reaching for the letter opener and slicing through the thin paper in one swift motion. Her dark eyes skimmed over the page, her brows knitting together as she reached the end.

"Excuse me," she muttered, pushing herself away from the table and hurrying up to her bedroom, sinking onto the bed as she read it over and over, hardly daring to believe that it was real. It couldn't be, not after… But it was. In black and white in her hands. But…why? He must have sent it by mistake…he must have _written it_ by mistake. Why on earth would he write to _her_? Did he want her to write back? A bad day…what did that mean? The questions went round and round and round in her head, and unable to make sense of them she tucked the letter inside the book on her bed, smoothed her skirt and decided to go for a walk.

It was late afternoon when she returned to her bedroom, hoping that some distance between her and the letter would give her some clarity. She read it again, though not really needing to…the neat script was already burnt into her mind, and she could see him…see that small, almost apologetic half-smile, his bright blue eyes watching her, taking in everything, his low, smooth voice… She shivered. Since the summer, she had pushed away those feelings, and buried them as deeply as she could, but it still hurt. She still loved him, and try as she might she could not ignore that. Oh she knew she was the architect of her pain, but that didn't lessen it; if anything, it made it worse because she knew that she could have prevented it, prevented all of this. She tried not to think about him, tried not to wonder where he was and what he was doing, and if he thought about her. Of course not. He hated her. But this letter… He had written to her… Would he welcome a reply or ignore it? She sighed loudly, frustrated and angry with herself and the cyclical nature of her thoughts.

_A bad day_…_If something should happen to me_..._Friends_… The words screamed at her from the page, their meaning suddenly becoming crystal clear. He thought he was going to die. He thought he was going to die and the letter was borne from that fear. The realisation chilled her to her very core. And what a terrible realisation it was, but, perfectly logical. He could. Many others already had. Oh god, what if he did? What if… _What if_… She blinked back the tears that were suddenly brimming in her eyes, her decision made, and moved to her dresser, rummaging in the drawer for some paper, quickly writing the date while her thoughts were still fresh in her mind, trying to ignore the niggling doubt as to whether she should write back.

_Matthew,_

_Thank you for your letter, surprised as I was to receive it after_ – after what? After I broke your heart, and mine because I couldn't tell you about the one thing that would make you hate me forever? After I drove you away, drove you to where you are now? No, she couldn't say any of that. She frowned and scrunched up the paper, pulling a fresh sheet out.

_Matthew,_

_Thank you for your letter, though I must admit that I was surprised to receive it._

_I'm sorry to hear about the mud. It makes my complaining about getting a bit dirty when I'm out riding seem like nothing at all in comparison._

_I'll be sure to pass on your comments to Granny; I've no doubt she'd take great delight in that! I'm certain that you don't look at all silly with a moustache though. I'll remember to ask Isobel next time I see her. She spends a lot of time at the hospital now, although I'm sure you already know that. Papa still insists that she dines with us, which she does at least once a week, but relations between her and Granny are much the same as they ever were! _

She sat back and sighed; while it was nice to have more company for dinner, if only for the evermore entertaining arguments between Isobel and her grandmother, Isobel's presence only seemed to reinforce the lack of Matthew's; but again, she couldn't tell him that. She leaned forwards, reading his letter once more, taking a deep breath as she reached the last paragraph.

_Of course we'd look after her, but please don't speak of things like that. It will be over soon, and you'll be back in England, and able to look after her yourself. Christmas is only two weeks away, so you'll see us much sooner than you think because I'm sure it will pass quickly._

_I also want to thank you for your offer of friendship. I would like that as well, very much._

_So you see, you're not allowed to let anything bad happen, or even believe that it might, because we cannot be friends again until we have shaken hands on it._

_Take care of yourself,_

_Your friend, Mary._

She read it over, satisfied, even though her heart and her mind raced, not entirely certain as to what this was...a start, an end…she didn't know, couldn't possibly know, not yet anyway. She carefully copied the address and sealed it before she could change her mind, leaving it on her dresser for Anna to take away later as she headed out once more, removing herself from the temptation to rewrite it, or burn it.

* * *

_29__th__ December 1914_

Matthew rubbed his face with his hands and checked the time, not that it mattered. It all seemed to run together here. It was either day or night, the time of which was unimportant. He flopped back onto the cot and pulled the letter, received that morning, out of his shirt pocket, smiling faintly to himself as her words jumped off the page at him, filling his heart with a tenderness he hadn't felt in a while. He could hear her voice in his head; the light and teasing tone; could see the shrug of her shoulders and roll of her eyes. It was comforting.

_Mary,_

_Thank you for your reply; it was a pleasant surprise in the midst of such chaos. Although, I feel that I have to tell you the truth... I never intended to send that letter. I was in a dark place when I wrote it, and it helped to write out my thoughts, but my man found it and had sent down for posting before I realised. However, on receiving your reply, I am glad of it._ He smiled properly; he _was_ glad of it. Yes he had been annoyed when he discovered that the letter had gone, but he had accepted it, there being nothing he could do to change what had happened, but then she had replied. She had sat and written her thoughts and sent them to him, and it made his heart soar, made him forget why he had left in the first place.

_As you know, I didn't make it back for Christmas, nor is the war showing signs of being over yet, but I have faith that it won't be long. It can't be long now. I hope though, that your Christmas was pleasant. Mine was…unusual. It was strange not to spend it with Mother. The first one I've ever spent without her. I hope she was not alone. It wasn't just strange because of that though. On Christmas morning the fighting stopped. We all just seemed to come to an understanding and made our way across the barren wasteland, and met in the middle. We sang carols; though my rudimentary German proved to be very poor indeed! Some of the men exchanged trinkets and food. There was also a game of football, and I'm sorry to say that any future hopes I may have had of being a sportsman were firmly knocked out of me! I think I spent more time with my face in the snow than actually kicking the ball! But it was fun, and it helped us to forget, even if it was just for a short while._

_Please complain away about getting muddy while riding, it will be a nice distraction from what's going on here! I will hold you to your word though; we are not friends again until we have shaken on it._

_I hope that you and the family are well, and that I will get to see English soil soon._

_Matthew._

He quickly stuffed it into an envelope, leaving it on the side to be posted this time, relaxing for a moment until he realised that he hadn't yet replied to his mother's letter, smiling again as he pulled out a fresh sheet of paper, not yet daring to think about what this was, what it meant.

* * *

_9__th__ January 1915_

Mary smiled as her father handed her the letter, now recognising the neat, curved handwriting. This time she did not open it, resisting while she finished her breakfast, before excusing herself, ignoring the perplexed looks from her sisters and father as they watched her.

_Matthew,_

_I am sorry to hear that your letter was sent by mistake, but I can't say that I was sorry to receive it. If anything, it made me think that perhaps there is a chance for me to make things right with you, and so I propose this: when you are home, we shall shake hands and it will be as if we are meeting for the first time; a fresh start for us both, and I think that is all there is to say on the matter until we meet again._

_Of course Isobel was not alone for Christmas; Papa insisted that she spend the day with us. It was a subdued affair though. I think that we all felt your absence, as well as the presence of the war. It was so very different from last year. Do you remember Granny hitting you with her cane? Although, it gave you such a bump on the head, how could you forget? Well, I suppose that's how! I'm pleased that you seemed to have made the best of it for the day, even if it was terribly cold and your skills with a football were called into question!_

_I've been out on Diamond twice this week. He's not too happy in the cold, but a good run soon warms us both, and the frost and ice make it far less muddy. I'm also learning how to drive. Branson is teaching both myself and Edith, but not at the same time. I don't think his nerves could take it! By all accounts, they are already on edge with Edith at the wheel anyway. Perhaps by the time you're back, I'll be ready to drive by myself!_

_Take care,_

_Mary._

She read his letter again before opening the drawer of her dresser, moving her handkerchiefs and placing it on top of the first letter. She smiled to herself as she pushed the drawer shut, finally allowing herself to feel what she had pushed away for so long, allowing that small glimmer of hope through the wall that she'd built. He had written back. He hadn't ignored her.

_A fresh start_.

* * *

_17__th__ February 1915_

Leave. In three weeks. All being well. It had been the best news he'd received in weeks. After a certain point, you just couldn't keep counting. If you gave it a number it only made it worse. You couldn't name them either. You just had to cross them off your roster and move on. No time to dwell. No time to feel. Except for now. The Cheshires had started their shift, so he had a few hours respite at least. A few hours to think, to feel, to be himself.

Mary.

There she was, without even consciously thinking about it…_Mary_. Her letter had arrived days ago, misdirected because they'd moved on since Christmas, but he hadn't had time to reply. Hadn't wanted to. Somehow, thinking of her and all that she was didn't seem right in this hellhole, as if she would be tainted by the very association. But he couldn't stop himself from thinking about her, try as he might. Not in the midst of battle though. Never there. Never with the blood and mud and gunshots and explosions and bodies, and the smell of rotting flesh, and the endless brown of the mud. No. She came to him in his dreams, in his meagre hours of respite in the safety of his dug-out, dappled in sunlight with wide trusting eyes and a warm smile, her hands reaching out towards him.

_Mary,_

_Please accept my apologies for the delay in replying to your last letter. Things have been a little busier than they were previously, but we keep going. We have to keep going._

_I'm so glad that Mother was not alone. I did worry about her, so thank you, sincerely. Of course I remember being at the wrong end of your grandmother's cane. I think I still have a lump to prove it! I hope that she held back with the sherry this year, if only to save anyone else from injury! Don't worry about my sporting ability; I still have all of that legal training behind me for when I return._

_I'm glad to hear the weather isn't hindering your activities. As for the driving…well, I'm sure you're in capable hands with Branson, as he must be in yours. Hopefully, Edith has improved by now though!_

_I've been granted some leave in a few weeks, though the way things are, I may be back before you even receive this. I look forward to seeing you, all of you, and shaking your hand, for the first time._

_Matthew._

His heart thudded. There was so much more that he wanted to say, but he couldn't. So much in her letter that he wanted to address, but…not here, not now. What did she mean by 'making things right'? Could she possibly mean… No. He shook his head. No. He could not hope. Could not wish. He just had to take it as it came, each precious morning that meant he had survived again. No. They were writing, and they were almost friends again, and for now that was enough. More than enough.

* * *

_11__th__ March 1915_

"Are you alright Mary?" Mary turned her head to face her youngest sister, fixing her brightest smile on her face as Sybil looked at her, her eyes filled with concern.

"Of course, darling. Why wouldn't I be?" She was grateful, then, that Anna indicated for her to lift her arms so that the maid could put the dress over her head, using the distraction to take a deep breath and attempt to steel her nerves once more. He hadn't replied. She tried not to think too much about that. Perhaps her letter hadn't got through. Perhaps his hadn't. Perhaps he'd realised that it was a foolish endeavour. Perhaps…perhaps…perhaps… Well, it had been nice while it lasted, she mused, but now she had to see him. Tonight. Isobel had visited the day before and told them that he was on his way back. He. Him. _Matthew_. Here, at Downton. It was everything she wanted, yet dreaded at the same time. It was all very well writing it down that they could be friends, but what about when he saw her again? Would he hate the sight of her? Could he even be her friend?

"Oh, I was just wondering," Sybil's voice cut through the fog of Mary's thoughts, and she shrugged, sensing her elder sister had something on her mind that she didn't want to talk about.

"There, all done milady," Anna smiled as she handed Mary her gloves. She knew that Lady Mary had been writing to Mr Matthew, and she also knew that her lady's nerves were on edge because of his return to the village.

"Thank you Anna. Will you be watching the concert?" Mary asked distractedly as she tugged the white material up her arms, forcing herself out of her thoughts again.

"Some of it milady. Mrs Hughes and Mr Carson don't mind. It is for the soldiers after all," she smiled again and bobbed her head, leaving the two sisters for a moment.

"Mary, aren't you nervous-"

"Nervous about what?" Edith appeared in the doorway, watching them both curiously.

"Is Mama ready to go down?" Mary deflected, smiling at her sisters with a look that told them not to ask any more questions or make any further comment; a smile that only faltered once the younger women had left the room and she took another deep breath, and another, before following them.

The hall was already full of guests, some were seated, some talking in small groups. Mary greeted her grandmother, but then moved to her father's side. Her heart was thudding. She barely heard what was being said around her. He wasn't here yet. Soon. Any minute now.

She sensed him before he was in the room, before he was even announced, her head turning slightly as Carson stepped forwards, holding her breath as the butler spoke, her eyes moving of their own accord to…

"Lieutenant Crawley and Mrs Crawley."

* * *

_Thank you for reading. I'm incredibly curious to hear your thoughts on this!_


	2. Chapter 2

_Well, I am completely overwhelmed by the response I received for the first chapter. I was not expecting that AT ALL, so thank you all so much. You have no idea what it means to me. I must also give thanks to __Frea O'Scanlin__, who made the gorgeous cover. Also thank you to __Orangeshipper__, who listened and helped me figure out a couple of things. Thank you! Also, my sincerest apologies for the delay with this; I went on holiday and then real life demanded my attention, as it is wont to do, and then it just would not go where I wanted it to, but I managed to get it on the right track, eventually! :)_

_On that note, here is the next instalment…enjoy!_

* * *

Chapter 2

_11th March 1915_

Matthew felt sick. He'd felt sick since he boarded the train in London. No. Before then…since he had stepped off the boat in Dover. He was back in England. Finally. Everything was so different compared to…_over there_; it was clear, fresh, pure. Everything except for him.

England. London. Home. He'd only been back for two days, for the first time in months, and already it felt like too long. It was also not enough.

Two days ago he'd headed to a small hotel in London, where the kindly old woman who ran it had insisted that he eat something before doing anything else. She'd fed him with lamb stew and fresh bread rolls, followed by apple tart and a tumbler of whiskey. He hadn't realised just how hungry he was until he devoured the meal, his stomach turning slightly at the richness of it but finishing every bite anyway. She'd shown him to the bathroom, where a tub of steaming water was already waiting for him. He had sat in the water until it was stone-cold, scrubbing at every inch of himself until he was almost raw. Scrubbing at the blood and mud that was so deeply engrained in the grooves and ridges of his long slender fingers, in the marks that were his and his alone, now stained by the dark red of others and the earth of France, scrubbing until he almost drew blood. Really, this new covering of dirt had washed away almost instantly, but he still felt it, almost like a new skin, covering him; suffocating and changing him. A new skin and a new identity. He felt so unlike himself that he wasn't even sure if they would recognise him. They. _Mary_.

Once he had dried and dressed in the soft clean cotton of his pyjamas, he had begun to feel more like Matthew, and less like Lieutenant Crawley. He had wondered if Mary knew that he was due back. She must do, he'd sent the telegram to his mother almost a week before he'd left France. He wondered if his letter had reached her… His mind had raced with endless questions and possibilities, all the while trying to block out the memories of the fighting. How could he think of Mary and at the same time think of France? How could he think of her after what he had done? He couldn't tell her – couldn't tell any of them – that he'd only been there for three weeks before he had killed a man. A German soldier had gotten too close and he had aimed and shot him square in the chest, recoiling as the body fell towards him, but having to ignore it and carry on. How could he tell them that as soon as he was back in his dug-out, he'd been sick and cried? Shame burnt through him at the memory. He had dismissed his man, then sunk down to the floor and let the tears fall as the enormity of what he had done pervaded every fibre of his being, his hands covering his face as he wished for his mother and her comforting embrace, for his father but cursing him for his absence. For Mary…for one last kiss.

But now he was back, and walking through the familiar front door, and he didn't have paper to hide behind. They'd written, and he wanted to be friends, but seeing her again… Would that change things? Would he be able to bear the sight of her? _Could_ they be friends? Could he even remember how to be himself? How could he be here, in civilised company, in society, when he had killed a man? More than one, he thought with a sharp pang of regret. He had killed men, just like himself, some of them younger, and all because they were German…

Before he could dwell too much on that thought, Carson appeared in front of them.

"Welcome back Sir. They're just through there."

"Thank you Carson," Isobel smiled warmly as they followed the butler, keeping one eye on her son. He hadn't said anything. He wouldn't, but he had retreated into himself; something he hadn't done for a long time. He was thinking about something, and she wished he'd tell her and that she could mother him; but he was twenty-seven, not eleven, so all she could do was catch his eye and smile reassuringly at him, even if he didn't smile back.

He was vaguely aware of Carson speaking again, and all of a sudden his heart was hammering in his chest, his eyes drifting from Cora who was stood in front of him reaching for his hand, he licked his lips as he felt his mouth dry out and his chest felt tight, his head turning instinctively…

He met Mary's gaze in an instant. His heart stopping as she offered him a small smile. He nodded, taking a deep breath and forcing himself to look at Robert who had now approached them.

"My dear boy, how glad we are to see you," Robert took Matthew's hand and shook it, smiling as he nodded along and said that he was happy to be back.

Mary swallowed and took a deep breath, unsure of what to do next. Should she go and sit down, or should she go and say hello? No, she had to go to him; she'd been the one to suggest the handshake for goodness sake, and she couldn't sit down because he'd seen her and it would look rude... Oh why had she thought it was a good idea?

Without even thinking about it, she had followed her father, smiling and briefly clasping Isobel's hand as she reached the small group, trying to stop herself from looking in Matthew's direction, but failing as her dark eyes travelled over him, drinking him in. He was taller, if that was possible. Leaner. More serious and sombre looking, but still so handsome. Perhaps even more than he had been before. Her heart thudded as she took in the broad shoulders, covered by the smart red jacket of his mess kit, long legs in black trousers…slim and straight. The neat moustache that covered that place between his top lip and his nose. _Distinguished_. That's what came to mind as her eyes flitted over him once more. She was suddenly overcome with an urge to touch his face, but she resisted, instead choosing to smile tentatively as his eyes met hers for a second time.

"Mary, we're going to sit down," Robert turned to her and she forced herself to nod, unable to tear her gaze away for even a second. He was alive and he was _here_. Isobel looked between them curiously, her presence having apparently been forgotten as they only had eyes for each other. She smiled to herself and followed Robert and Cora to their seats.

Matthew's heart raced as he was filled with the vague awareness that they had been left alone, his bright eyes glancing over her. She was so beautiful that he had wondered if he'd dreamt her. But no…she was real and just as lovely as he remembered and stood in front of him, a small smile gracing her lips, the faint scent of her perfume wafting gently into his nostrils…

"Mary Crawley," her soft voice startled him and he looked down to see her right hand extended out towards him. He inhaled deeply, this was it. He smiled and reached out his own hand, his fingers curling gently around hers, feeling a flash of heat at the contact, even though she was wearing gloves, his thumb lightly brushing over her knuckles. Suddenly they were back in the library. Another lifetime ago now; just like everything else.

"Lieutenant Matthew Crawley," he smiled broadly, hoping that he had somehow hidden his nerves. "How do you do?" She was lost in his eyes until she felt the faint pressure of his hand in hers and she smiled, suppressing a gasp. It was already going far better than she thought it would. He didn't hate her (not that she could tell anyway). He could stand the sight of her. Her heart soared; they _could_ be friends.

"I'm glad to see you. You look well," she suddenly felt flustered. He did look well, very well in fact…in his mess kit… She hoped he wouldn't notice the faint blush that she could feel creeping up her neck.

"Thank you. So do you," unconsciously, his eyes dropped, taking in her lips, the gentle curves that were accentuated by her fitted evening dress, how her necklace swayed as she moved… He dragged his eyes back up to meet hers, smiling again. "In fact, I am sure I've never seen you looking so well."

Edith and Sybil twisted in their seats, wondering what was taking Mary so long. What they saw was not at all what they expected to see; their eyes widening in a mix of incredulity and appreciation as they saw the handsome man in the red coat. Mary was stood close to Matthew, their hands still clasped in a handshake, almost as if they'd forgotten about it. Both were smiling, warmly but somehow nervously too, their eyes locked in a silent conversation. The two younger women smiled at each other before turning back, leaving the couple to it.

"So, are we friends again?" Mary eventually spoke, feeling like whatever she said was not enough but needing to say _something_, and hoping that her voice didn't tremble too much.

"Yes. I'd say that we are. Shall we?" They pulled their hands away at the same time, missing the contact as they walked to their seats.

The concert passed almost without incident, as did dinner afterwards, with Edith boasting about her driving and the busyness of the hospital, but it was all background noise. Mary and Matthew listened and responded when they needed to, but their awareness consisted mainly of the other, kept in sight out of the corner of an eye. Robert mentioned something about being given a colonelcy, which caused Matthew to look up in surprise before muttering his congratulations and turning to Mary, not even aware of his instinctive action until she responded.

She stared at him for a moment before asking the first thing that popped into her head, "What's it been like?"

His head turned and he met her gaze, looking deeply into her eyes for longer than he probably should have for someone who was just a friend. _What's it been like_? What was it like? It was hell on earth. The stench of death hung in the air, a permanent cloud above them. Everything was stained red and brown with blood, and mud, and other substances that he dared not think about too much as it made his stomach churn. He had seen flesh burnt away, bones sticking out, limbs flying off… The screams of some of the men late at night would be something that would haunt him until his dying day. How he could he tell her that? How could he tell her that thinking of that place made him feel sick? That he feared for his life and the lives of his men every single day? That going back there… He looked away and blinked, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find the right words.

"Do you know, the thing is…" He trailed off and swallowed, not wanting to look at her for the first time that evening. He blinked again, his mouth suddenly dry. "…I just can't talk about it." He looked round to see her nod once and offer him a small smile. She desperately wanted to reach out and touch him, and let him know that it was alright, but she had given up that right. With a sharp jolt, a much ignored thought surfaced at the front of her mind. Something that she had been avoiding for a while, but now it was there and it lurked uncomfortably, begging for attention; it had to be addressed, and soon. Not now though. Not tonight. Soon.

It was a few hours later when Mary walked with Matthew towards the front door, watching him fasten his greatcoat, a comfortable silence having settled between them.

"How long are you back for?" They stopped and he turned to look at her.

"Just until Saturday, then I'm on the six o'clock train back to London."

"And then back to France?" He hesitated before nodding once.

"Would you – if you're not too busy – would you come back tomorrow morning? There's something I need to talk to you about." She felt the sting of tears in the back of her eyes as she thought of what she had to tell him.

"Of course. Nothing too serious I hope," he smiled and she nodded, forcing herself to return it. His mind started filling with possibilities as to what it could be and coming up with only one firm answer. He had glanced at her hand during dinner and not seen a ring, but that didn't mean anything. He supposed she could be engaged, and maybe no one had mentioned it because they were waiting for Mary to tell him, and it wasn't the sort of thing one could put in a letter. Yes that must be it, he thought as his heart sank.

_Friends_.

"Oh, no," she smiled, their eyes meeting again, this time filled with a sadness as their minds raced with jumbled thoughts. She watched him get into the car after Isobel, remaining in the doorway long after it had driven off into the dark of the night.

* * *

_12th March 1915_

"Lieutenant Crawley is waiting in the library for Lady Mary," Carson announced as he entered the drawing room. "This also arrived for you Milady." He handed Mary a letter, the familiar writing only making her feel more wretched about what she was about to do.

He was stood looking out of the window, hands clasped behind his back, and she noticed, as she stared at his leather boots for longer than she should have done, that the khaki of his normal uniform had almost the same effect on her as his mess kit. He turned, sensing her presence and smiled.

"Hello." He sounded calmer than he felt. All night he'd been plagued with the thought that she only wanted to be friends because she had found someone else. Already. He clenched his fist, hoping to alleviate some of the tension coiled within him.

"Hello. I hope you've not been waiting long. Could we…go for a walk, if you don't mind?"

If he was surprised by the request he didn't show it, and agreed to wait while she fetched her coat. So outside then. Away from the house and servants and family, and prying ears though not, necessarily, prying eyes.

They walked slowly in silence, unconsciously taking a familiar path, painfully aware of the mere inches between them.

"Your letter came this morning, I've not had chance to read it yet though," Mary broke the silence but regretted it instantly. Now was not the time for inane chatter.

"I did wonder," they smiled briefly before silence fell over them once more. The air between them was tense, both wanting to speak but neither being able to find quite the right words. They sat down on the bench, conscious thought having left them completely as they'd wandered aimlessly and ended up there. The words were on the tip of Mary's tongue. She'd rehearsed it to herself over and over since he'd left the night before, and yet now he was sat next to her, staring across the grounds, tapping his fingers on his knee – she wondered if he was aware of it, or if it was just a habit – and she had lost her voice.

"There's something I need to tell you," she broke the silence after what felt like an eternity. "It's…something I should have told you a while ago." She kept her gaze fixed on something in the distance and took a deep breath.

* * *

"What do you think they're talking about?" Cora turned to her husband, fully expecting an answer.

"Who?"

"Mary and Matthew. They're outside."

"I don't know," he carried on reading his newspaper. "But whatever it is, my dear, leave them alone."

"Did you seem them last night Robert? They look so natural together," Cora sighed, turning her attention back to the window.

"Cora, leave them be."

"Matthew looks angry," Cora murmured, more to herself than to Robert, but that piqued his interest.

"Oh?" He rose to stand behind his wife, looking out of the window as the figures of Mary and Matthew seemed to be shouting and gesticulating wildly at each other, their faces set in expressions of anger and…hurt. "I'm sure they'll work it out, whatever it is. Cora, dear, whatever you're thinking, don't. They are adults. Leave them to it." He kissed her cheek and gently pulled her away from the window.

"I'm just worried about Mary," Cora murmured as she picked up her embroidery. Robert looked up sharply, meeting his wife's gaze with a frown.

"Why? Cora, am I missing something?" She stared at him and thought for a moment before taking a deep breath.

"Yes. I suppose it's time…"

* * *

"Was that why you didn't…" Matthew trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut as he inhaled, desperately trying to process what he'd learnt in the past few minutes. "Was that why you didn't give me an answer?" He lowered his voice, forcing himself to take deep breaths in an attempt to calm down.

"Yes, because I _couldn't_!" She flung her hands out from her sides, drained and frustrated. They stood facing each other, having been unable to remain seated as the words had tumbled from her lips, their chests rising and falling as they gasped for breath, eyes red with unshed tears. "I couldn't marry you on a lie, and I couldn't be your friend on that same lie. It happened, Matthew. I made a mistake, and I pay for that mistake every day." Her words hung in the air between them, their meaning perfectly clear.

"God Mary, you can't just tell me this and then expect me to-" He pulled off his cap and ran his hand through his hair.

"Expect you to what? I'm not expecting anything Matthew, but I had to tell you and I'm sorry that it took so long for me to realise that." She shook her head and took several deep breaths before speaking again, "And surely, you are responsible for some deaths over in France, so I suppose that should make us even." She spoke softly, attempting to lighten the atmosphere between them.

"Don't joke, please. Not when I'm trying to...to understand. And besides, it's hardly the same," he replied sadly, just as softly. No it wasn't the same. What he had done was worse. Far worse. He had killed men – plural – while she had been forced into a situation and a man's death had been an incredibly unfortunate result of that. But still… Mary had been intimate with someone, and whatever hopes he may have had from renewing their friendship (whether he could consciously address them yet or not), had been altered because of that. It changed _everything_. She nodded, not wanting to anger him further by offering a false and weak defence.

"If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go back inside," she turned towards the house before looking back to Matthew, her voice quiet, defeated, "I know you must despise me, but I'm glad we were friends again, if only for a little while," and with that she turned on her heel, pressing her hand to her face, willing her tears away as she strode back to the house. It hurt but she'd had to do it. If only she'd had the courage to do it before…_before_.

Matthew watched her for a moment, his head swimming as her revelation spun round and round in his mind.

"Mary, wait. Please." She stopped and heard him come up behind her. He moved to stand in front of her, his heart aching at the sight of her tear-stained face as her dark brown eyes slowly met his. "You're wrong. I never would… I never _could_ despise you. Whatever else I've felt, it's never been that. Not once," he swallowed, holding back his own tears. He meant it. Even through the anger and the hurt and…humiliation, he hadn't hated her, not really. He loved her too much.

"Thank you for that," she nodded and wiped her eyes, feeling a strange sense of relief at his reassurance. They walked back towards the house in silence, both lost in their own thoughts.

"You don't look silly by the way," she bit back a smile as she turned to face him properly.

"Oh?" He replied, confused, looking down over himself in case something was amiss.

"The moustache. It suits you," she smiled more broadly as his hand moved to his top lip, almost as if he'd forgotten it was there. "You look very…distinguished." He ducked his head, embarrassed but smiling, a faint heat creeping up his cheeks at her comment. She wanted to say handsome, but something stopped her, so she settled on what she had thought the previous night.

_Friends_.

They carried on walking, past the house, around the grounds, a silent understanding having passed between them, neither one feeling the need to speak. They eventually parted after a couple of hours with polite smiles and handshakes and best wishes and an unspoken promise that they would still write to each other.

* * *

_13th March 1915_

The steam cleared and he saw her, smiling as she turned, having sensed his presence before seeing him.

"You got my note?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"I'm sorry it's so early…" He trailed off, not really sure of what else to say, what else he could say.

"It's quite alright," Mary smiled though her eyes were glassy. With a sharp pang, she noticed that his were too.

"I don't want to undo…whatever we've managed to get back to, but I did want to see you again before I left," Matthew smiled warmly at her, pleased when she returned it. He reached into his coat pocket and closed his fingers around the object he'd stuffed in there earlier… But losing his nerve at the last second and removing his hand. At that same moment, Mary pulled something from her small bag.

"I wanted to give you this," she pressed it into his hand and he looked down. It was a small toy dog. "It's my lucky charm. I've had it always, so you must promise to bring it back, without a scratch." Their eyes met and his fingers curled around the toy, around her fingers, clasping her hand to his.

"Won't you need it?" He spoke quietly, overwhelmed with emotion that she trusted him with such a treasured possession.

"Not as much as you, so look after it. Please."

"I'll try not to be a hero if that's what you're afraid of," he smiled weakly, putting the toy in his pocket, his fingers brushing against the object once more… But it was too late, the moment had passed. "I'm glad we're friends again."

"Even after yesterday?"

"Yes. Especially after that."

"I am sorry, truly. I-" She closed her eyes and shook her head, as if doing that would somehow erase what had happened.

"I know," he interrupted more harshly than intended, but his voice softened when he saw her expression. "I know, but please let's not talk of that now." He took a deep breath, his eyes stinging as he formed the next words. "I know I shouldn't ask again, but if something does happen… Please, would you look after Mother?"

"Of course we will, but it won't," she nodded, fixing a bright smile on her face.

"Well we have shaken hands, so it might," he answered wryly. His head turned as the conductor blew the whistle behind him. "I have to go, but we _are_ friends again Mary, and I _am_ glad of it."

She nodded in agreement and, acting on a sudden impulse, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his cheek, her eyes squeezing shut as she took in the softness of it, of the smell of him, storing everything about that all too brief moment for later. "Well, goodbye then, and such good luck," the tears threatened to spill over as she pulled away, forcing a smile across her features.

He boarded the train with a sad smile, wishing her lips could have lingered on him for longer, wishing he could have had the courage to return the gesture, to give her what he carried in his pocket.

Mary watched the train, turning on her heels as it pulled away from the platform, following the movement, keeping him in sight for as long as she could, unable to stop the tears this time, her face crumpling as her feelings overwhelmed her.

He couldn't leave it like that. He had to see her, one last time, just in case... Fumbling with the window, he pushed it down and leaned out, pulling off his cap to wave at her, his heart breaking as he saw her with her hands pressed to her face, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed. He sank against the seat and pulled out the toy, completely unaware that he took with him more of her than just a toy, yet knowing that he had left his heart there.

_Friends…_

They were. They could be. They had to be.

* * *

_Thank you for reading; I'd love to hear your thoughts!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you again for all of your kind words and support with this. I really do appreciate it!_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Chapter 3

_14__th__ March 1915_

Mary woke slowly, her head aching and her throat sore. The previous day had dragged after she had returned from the train station, but she had kept her composure; holding herself together until she was alone in her bedroom before she let the tears fall once more, having waited until then to read the letter. It hadn't felt right to read it while Ma…while _he_ was still in the village. She rang the bell for Anna, rubbing her hands over her face while she waited for the maid; the memory of his sad smile and glassy eyes as he'd boarded the train filling her mind…she couldn't forget it. Not that she wanted to.

"Milady, Mr Carson said that his Lordship wants to speak to you in the library once you return from church." Mary nodded as Anna relayed the massage and worked around her. She had avoided her family the previous day, claiming a headache and staying in her room, requesting trays for her lunch and supper. She hadn't really seen her father properly since Friday morning; he'd been busy with estate business and then had been to a dinner in York. He didn't usually request to see her unless it was serious; she felt her heart sink as she ran through what it could be about.

* * *

She approached the library slowly, unconsciously mirroring her actions from the other day. With a deep breath, she steeled herself and walked in.

Robert was stood looking out of the window when Mary entered the room, pausing as she noticed that he was stood almost exactly where Matthew had been only two days previously, shaking her head as his name slipped into her thoughts.

"Shut the door please." He spoke without turning. "The servants know not to disturb us."

"Oh? I assume it must be serious then," she walked towards the centre of the room, feeling sick with anticipation as she caught the stern edge in his voice, hoping that she had managed to keep hers steady.

"Your Mama told me something the other day," Robert swallowed, keeping his gaze fixed on the middle-distance. "Something that I think you – both of you – intended to keep from me." He turned then, frowning at her. She clasped her hands behind her back, her knuckles white with the tension, knowing straight away where the conversation was now going.

"Something about the late Mr Pamuk." Mary shut her eyes and nodded once. Robert took the moment to look at her properly. She looked tired and her expression was pained. Then there was the tense way she held herself, had been holding herself for some time… He frowned again as she opened her eyes and he noticed they were lacking something; something that had glittered during the dinner on Thursday, but all that had changed was… _Matthew_. The Earl's expression softened as he seemed to realise something. Mary could feel her father's gaze upon her, but was determined to accept whatever punishment he was going to offer with the best grace that she could muster. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Nothing." Her voice was suddenly hoarse. "Nothing," she repeated, shaking her head. "I made a mistake, and…I pay for it every day, but I will accept whatever punishment you have chosen for me." Mary stared at Robert, her heart thudding erratically as she awaited her fate.

"I should send you away you know; send you to America to stay with your Grandmama," Robert took another step towards his daughter.

"I understand," Mary spoke quietly and nodded, trying to ignore the thought that if she went away she would not be able to write to Matthew as easily, if at all.

"Your Mama, however, thought that was too harsh a punishment, and not very wise while we are in the middle of a war." He crossed the room and stopped in front of her. "I have yet to decide on something that would be more suitable." Mary met his gaze and nodded.

"I'm sorry Papa." The earl stared at his daughter for a moment. He didn't doubt the sincerity of her apology, but it was tinged with sadness, with a sense of loss, almost, and the observation that had started it all flitted into his mind.

"What does Matthew make of it? I assume that he does know?" Mary's eyes widened, they had been quite alone outside, but she supposed that you were never alone there, not really. "We saw you talking outside and your mother thought that you might be telling him." Robert's voice was soft, his heart swelling with affection for her as he saw the change in her expression – the flicker in her dark eyes at the mention of his name, the sudden tears that had appeared in them, the slight curve her lips into the faintest of smiles – before she realised and made her face as neutral as possible.

"He does. He didn't say much about it though, only that he doesn't hate me, but we…parted on good terms I think, and said we'd write again." The words tumbled out before she'd even thought about it, and Mary's eyes widened once more as she realised what she had let slip; but it was too late to take back now.

"Again?" Robert smiled fondly as several things seemed to slot into place.

"Oh, yes. We've been writing. We're…friends."

"I see. And there's no chance of being more than that?" He raised his eyebrows hopefully, wondering if his assumptions were correct.

She shook her head once, "No. He might not despise me, but he only wants to be friends, and that's enough. Truly." She said it to convince herself as much as her father. Perhaps if she repeated it often enough, it would become true, and it really would be enough. What a strange state it was though; neither in love, nor in loathing. "I don't think he'll ever be able to forgive me for it, so it's a hopeless cause anyway." She smiled, too broadly, too brightly, betraying the nonchalant tone of her voice.

"I'm sure he will eventually. He's a good man; just give him time." Mary nodded slowly, not quite believing him, before leaning up to kiss his cheek.

"Thank you Papa," she whispered in his ear. Robert smiled and was about to embrace her, when she pulled away and headed towards the door, feeling a little lighter than she had before, but still feeling the weight of disappointment of the two men that she loved most in the world.

* * *

_4__th__ April 1915_

"You are terrible at this Crawley. It's shocking really!" The other men laughed at Matthew as he smiled and threw the rest of his cards onto the crate. "Smoke?"

"No, thank you Taylor. Another round though?" They murmured and nodded in agreement.

"Have you got anything left to bet with?" Taylor raised his eyebrows and grinned.

"I might have something…" Matthew trailed off with a smile as he rummaged in his pockets, pulling out everything that was in them – a box of matches, a few coins, a pencil, and a small toy dog, which he hastily replaced, but it was too late. They had seen it.

"What was that then Crawley? A toy? Who might that be from then eh?" The men laughed again, turning to look at the young lieutenant as he blushed and shook his head.

"It's…nothing," Matthew picked up the cards and started shuffling them, aware of the four pairs of eyes that were watching him closely.

"It's not 'nothing' if you're so quick to hide it!"

"Crawley's got a girl!" Captain Pierce slammed his hand down and shouted after a moment, looking at Matthew, who reacted too slowly to deny it, his blue eyes wide and his mouth open ready to protest. "Ah, so you have! Who is she?"

"Yes Lieutenant, who is she? Because that is not from your mother as she sends you socks, and a toy like that would only come from a sweetheart."

"And you appear to have acquired that recently. As recently as say…your return from Yorkshire," they laughed, and playfully hit Matthew's arm.

"Is it the same one who writes to you? Ah yes, very elegant hand…" They all shouted and called over each other as Matthew shrank back, blushing furiously.

"Yes. I mean, it was from her, but no, I haven't…she's not…my girl, she's just…Mary," he answered feebly, attempting to defend himself.

"Right, she writes to you and gave you what looks like a very old toy, and she's _just_ Mary, and she's not your girl. Of course. You keep telling yourself that old chap. We believe you, don't we? Many wouldn't though!" More laughing. More teasing. Eventually, tired of the jokes at his expense, Matthew excused himself, claiming a meeting with the CO, but really finding he was unable to talk about her there, with them.

Just Mary. What did he even mean by that? She could never be _just Mary_, not to him, not ever. He sighed as he sank back onto his cot, allowing himself to _feel _for a moment. Her lips were still pressed against his cheek. Her fingers still curled around his… _Friends_. Rubbing his hands through his hair, he decided to do what he should have done days ago.

_Mary,_

_I'm sorry that it's taken me so long to write; I've been moved again. I hope that you've not been too worried. There is no reason to be at the moment though; we're all in a waiting game and there's been no fighting, nothing, for days. All we do is play cards, which is something else I must add to the list of things I'm not very good at! The weather has improved, at least. It's still a bit damp, but warmer than it was a month ago. Every cloud, I suppose. I hope the spring is treating you well._

_I know we didn't say much at the time, but I feel I must mention what you told me. I meant what I said; I don't despise you for it, but I hope that you're not waiting for me to forgive you. Being here has made me realise something. It's made me realise that war has a way of distinguishing between the things that matter and the things that don't. So what I'm trying to say, albeit somewhat inarticulately, is that I can't forgive you because I don't need to. You don't need my forgiveness because it's not important. You don't need it because then I'd have to beg for yours, and how could I do that when I have blood on my hands? When what I have done is worse? I couldn't ask, and so I won't expect you to either._

_Please pass on my regards to everyone, and wish them all a happy Easter, belated wishes I know, by the time you will receive this._

_Matthew._

Matthew sat back and exhaled. He hadn't meant to write most of that, hadn't meant to be so honest, but it had all just spilled out. He read it over and debated whether or not to rewrite it, uncertain of the etiquette of precisely how much one relayed to a friend. The word prickled uncomfortably in his thoughts. Even now, after everything, after what she'd told him, he still wanted more. But she didn't, and that was fine. It would have to be fine. Better to have her in his life as a friend than not in it at all. Looking at the toy dog where it was sat next to her other letters, he made a decision.

* * *

_15__th__ April 1915_

Mary settled herself at the writing desk in the drawing room, rummaging in the unfamiliar drawers until she found what she was looking for.

_Matthew,_

_Thank you for your letter. It arrived as I was about to depart for London. Papa has sent me to stay with Aunt Rosamund for a while. Mama told him, and he's very disappointed with me. He was going to send me to America, so I suppose I should be grateful that Mama convinced him otherwise. I'm here until the end of the month, at least, and the worst part is that there are no opportunities for me to ride, or to drive. Perhaps that's why he sent me here._

_I'm not sorry that you're not fighting. Maybe it's a sign that things could be drawing to a close. At least it means that you're safe. No good at cards though? Really Matthew, I do hope you're a good solicitor, because your skills seem to be lacking in almost everything else!_

Mary frowned and paused for a moment, wondering if he would take it as the light-hearted comment she intended. Friends could tease one another couldn't they? She sighed and rang the bell for some tea. She didn't know how to be his friend, not really, not properly. Not that she really knew how to be anything else to him either.

_I joke of course. I'm sure you're not as bad as you think, but I suppose that winning isn't the point of playing anyway. Not there at least. I hope you had a pleasant Easter though. Ours was the same as it always is, but nice all the same._

_I do appreciate your sentiment, more than you know. If you asked me though, of course I'd forgive you. You're doing your duty, and there's nothing wrong with that._

_Mary._

Mary sighed once more. She didn't know what she could say to him, how she could console him. Instead, she had settled on a weak platitude, often repeated in the newspapers. Duty. What did it mean, really? A conversation, from not too long ago, sprang to mind, and she squeezed her eyes shut as the barrage of memories assaulted her, taunted her, and her own words mocked her. She sighed a third time, loudly, folding the letter and sealing the envelope before she had chance to change her mind.

* * *

_29__th__ April 1915_

_Mary,_

_I'm sorry that you've been sent to London. I can only imagine how much you must miss Diamond, and the freedom he gave you. At least it's not America though. It would take far longer for my letters to reach you there! Your father loves you; I'm sure he'll forgive you in time. Anyway, we shall say no more about it, because the more we talk about it, the longer we're keeping it going. Please, tell me what you've been doing in London instead! I've never spent a great deal of time there and I should like to once I'm back properly._

_I feel I should tell you as well, that I'm actually not a bad solicitor! I was never one for cards at university, and cricket was my sport at school. I'm sure I could still wield a bat if I needed to. One of the other lieutenants is someone that I was at school with. It seems strange that we grew up together, almost, and now years later, we're both here. It's quite comforting to have a familiar face around though._

_We've been busy recently. Truthfully, I don't know what's worse; being busy, or the endless waiting. It means there's no end in sight though, not yet anyway._

_Forgive me if I'm casting a gloom. You probably don't want to hear about all of this. Perhaps what I say next will distract you. I'm sending you something. I planned to give it to you at the train station, but I lost my nerve. However, I hope that you will accept it now. If you don't want to keep it, I perfectly understand. I just thought…truthfully, I don't know what I thought._

_Best wishes,_

_Matthew._

* * *

_11__th__ May 1915_

_Matthew,_

_I wish I shared your faith that Papa will forgive me, but sadly it is not to be. At least, not for a long time anyway._

_Thank you for the photograph. It's strange to think of you as you were, now that I've seen you with a moustache._

_I do miss Diamond terribly. I'll take him for a good run when I get back. As yet, Papa has not decided when I can return home. At least Aunt Rosamund has taken me to visit some of the galleries and museums. We've also been for several strolls through Hyde Park. I think I know why my father sent me here though. Almost every evening we attend some party or other, where there are lots of eligible bachelors. I think he wants me to meet someone and marry as soon as possible, limiting any potential damage. While some are pleasant, they all seem genuinely perplexed when I ask them why they're not in France, as if such a thing hadn't even occurred to them._

_There's one in particular who seems quite keen. He owns a lot of newspapers. He's very forward, almost improper, but he's quite good friends with my aunt, and she doesn't seem to hold any objections about his behaviour._

But he's not you, Mary thought to herself sadly as she turned and looked out of the window. Should she be telling Matthew any of this? What were her marital prospects to him? She frowned; she knew she had to marry, but they were all so old and _dull_, and some really didn't seem to care about what was happening across the channel, and that irked her more than anything else, though she couldn't quite put her finger on why exactly that was. She knew what – _who_ – she wanted but that was not to be, so she supposed she should just pick one and settle. Shaking her head, ridding herself of those thoughts, she resumed her writing, listing the galleries and museums she'd visited, and what she'd found interesting. She vaguely wondered if he would enjoy the same things.

_I'm sorry if none of that is not of use nor interest; I'm afraid I'll have put you off visiting!_

_It must be nice to know someone out there though. There's nothing like a friendly face to cheer you up._

_Take care,_

_Mary._

* * *

_20__th__ May 1915_

_Mary,_

_I'm glad you have been enjoying your time in London. We're still busy here. It's good that you've met someone. Very good. I hope you shall be very happy together._

_I'm due back at the start of June, though I suspect you'll be too busy in London to see me._

_Matthew._

Matthew's heart lurched. He hadn't told her his thoughts from when he'd been at home, when he'd thought that she was engaged. He had ignored it completely once she told him about…_that_. He hadn't once mentioned it in his letters, and now it was too late. He was too late. He was overcome with an urge to kick something, instead settling on hitting his hand against his mattress. In an instant, he felt mean-spirited. He was her friend. He had no claim to her, hadn't indicated any intentions (not that he'd even considered having intentions towards her until now)… He had no right to be jealous. _Jealous_. His mind had filled it in before he'd even recognised the feeling...

A loud crash startled him, and Mary, and the letter and everything else, was forgotten in an instant as he donned his helmet and hurried outside.

* * *

_5__th__ June 1915_

Matthew strolled slowly towards the Abbey, dreading it more than he had three months ago. He hadn't received a reply to his last letter, which he knew could be put down to a number of reasons: the post being delayed, him leaving France before it arrived… As much as he tried to tell himself that it was probably due to a postal error, he strongly suspected that it was because his last letter had not been as friendly as his previous ones. He hoped she'd forgive him. She had to. She would when she knew. She had to. A sudden thought occurred to him, and he headed towards the gardens instead, pulling out his penknife as he saw what he was looking for, smiling to himself as he headed back towards the house.

* * *

Mary sighed loudly as she turned the page of her novel, causing her father's eyebrows to rise once more. He could not understand his daughter in the slightest. Since her return from London – which she had apparently enjoyed, judging by the letters to her mother – she'd seemed to be in an almost permanently bad mood. Checking the time, Robert folded his newspaper and stood.

"I've got an appointment in Ripon. I'll see you at dinner," Mary glanced up as her father left the room, returning to the page in front of her, and sighing again as the door opened and Carson's deep voice broke the silence.

"Lieutenant Crawley to see you Milady." Mary's heart sped up at the sound of his name, at knowing he was so near, but as she heard the second pair of footsteps enter behind the butler, she didn't look up, instead staring more determinedly at the page in front of her, the words becoming a blur as she fixed her gaze on them.

"Thank you Carson. Please kindly tell the Lieutenant that I'm simply too busy to see him today."

* * *

_Thank you for reading. I'd love to hear your thoughts!_


	4. Chapter 4

_Hello again lovely readers! Apologies for the delay with this (I have been a bit of a busy bee though!), but thank you all for your continued support. I really do appreciate it, and I'm so happy that so many of you are as excited about this as I am! Also thank you to __Orangeshipper__, who has listened to me waffle on and helped me to figure out a couple of things._

_That said, enjoy!_

* * *

Chapter 4

_5__th__ June 1915_

"_Thank you Carson. Please kindly tell the Lieutenant that I'm simply too busy to see him today."_

The words hung in the air, and the two men glanced at each other uncertainly.

"Milady?" Carson wasn't sure what to do. It was obvious that Lady Mary wasn't busy, and Lieutenant Crawley was already stood next to him… The room filled with an awkward silence as the butler watched her closely; saw her frown before lowering the book and closing it, throwing it carelessly onto the seat beside her.

"Oh very well. Thank you Carson." She met his gaze and he nodded once, bowing his head slightly as he exited, leaving them alone. Mary stood and moved to the window, pacing restlessly, trying not to look at him.

"Mary, please let me explain." Matthew stepped towards her, suddenly feeling foolish with his childish token, still stinging slightly from her throwing his own words back at him.

"No explanation needed Matthew. I think I understand perfectly." She folded her arms and stopped moving, staring out across the lawn. Matthew shivered at the coldness of her tone and frowned, staring at the back of her head, and the nape of her neck... He shook his head.

"You see, I'd rather not be friends with a liar."

"A liar? Mary, what are you-"

She turned then, meeting his gaze with dark eyes that blazed with fury. "You lied. You said it didn't matter, and then you sent that letter-"

"Mary, it _doesn't_ matter-" The agitation in his voice was evident as he snapped and interrupted her, knowing instantly what she was referring to.

"Well something does." They stared at each other. She hadn't meant to say that, or had she? She couldn't tell. The air was thick around them, and it would be so easy – _too_ easy – for them to destroy the fragile friendship they'd started to build by carrying on with the argument. Instead, Matthew took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry. Really I am. But I've not lied. It _doesn't_ matter, not to me." He spoke the last bit softly, and her eyes flicked over him as he swallowed and shook his head, still not looking at her. "I shouldn't have sent that letter; shouldn't have written it, even. I should have left it, and waited."

"Oh, well that makes it alright then," she retorted bitterly, turning back to look out of the window. "What I don't understand is how you could be so…unkind. If it's not…the other thing, what exactly had I said to deserve that?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's good that you've met someone. I hope you'll be very happy together," she replied even more coolly than before, if that was even possible. He flinched as he recognised the words. "I feel like I'm missing something Matthew." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as her mind raced with irrational and confusing thoughts.

"Well, you said that's why you were in London…to find a…husband…" He choked on the final word and unconsciously clenched his fists as she turned back to face him. "I was simply…offering you my congratulations."

"Did I say that though?" She tilted her head, softening her expression. "Or did I actually say that I _think_ that's why Papa sent me there, no doubt on my mother's counsel? Did I give any indication for a preference to any of the men that I met, or did I simply say that they were all keen, and one in particular was especially so?" Matthew's mouth opened and closed as he thought back to her letter.

"No," he coughed. "No. You didn't say that."

"Have I said anything that implies I am to be engaged or married imminently?" Her eyes were still fixed on his, but the fury had been replaced by something else. Something that looked a lot like…sadness.

"No." He sighed. She was right, of course she was, and it only made him feel worse.

"Then why would you assume otherwise, and why would you be so…_mean_ if it was true?"

"I'm sorry. Please just let me explain." He didn't wait for a response before continuing. "The day I wrote that letter…well it wasn't a good day. It was one of the worst in fact. I had written it, and then realised how it might sound to you, and I was going to change it, but then…I got called out." He blinked rapidly as he felt the backs of his eyes prickle. Mary nodded at him, waiting for him to continue, but he didn't, instead turning away and running his hand through his hair, suddenly elsewhere…

_The blast rang in his ears, the screams and shouts just about audible above it. The smoke covered everything, burning his eyes and throat._

"_Taylor! Taylor!" He'd reached the collapsed bit of the trench, pulling away rocks and rubble until a hand closed itself around his and a pair of eyes was visible amidst the mud and debris. They'd pulled him free as much as they could…until they saw the wooden spike – probably a pole of some sort – sticking through the fallen soldier's side, pinning him to the ground, his uniform already stained dark red._

"_How bad is it?" He had slurred, almost as if he were drunk. "My back hurts."_

"_Oh, not as bad as you think, but we don't want to move you yet, just in case there's another blast. But, don't worry old chap, we'll have you right in no time. Here." He had shifted, gently easing himself to sit behind his friend, foolishly hoping that the extra warmth would be enough to save him..._

"Matthew?" Mary had taken half a step towards him, uncertain as to whether she should approach him or not. "What is it?" Her voice broke through his fogged thoughts and he blinked, startled. "You can tell me, if you want to." Her lips curved slightly into the faintest of smiles, and he stared at her for a long moment as his surroundings came back…England, Downton, library, _Mary_…and he nodded, swallowing thickly, opening and closing his mouth as he struggled to find the right words.

"Several men in my unit died. One in particular... Lieutenant Taylor. He was the one that I had known at school, and we got caught in a blast, and…" He trailed off, overcome with the rage and grief that had consumed him that day, that still consumed him now. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath, hearing the tremble in his voice when he spoke again. "He was trapped, and injured, and I sat with him, talking to him, but he couldn't feel his legs, and he was so cold…"

Matthew rubbed his hand across his face, hoping to hide the tears that streaked down it. It hurt to relive it. Everything hurt. "He just…slipped away, and he was in my arms. He's got twin boys at home. They're only four. And his wife – he adored her – and God! It could have been me. I was seconds behind him…and then… It could have been me…" He trailed off and took several deep, shuddering breaths, his eyes opening as he heard the clink of glasses and saw Mary walking towards him holding out a glass of brandy.

"I'm so sorry," Mary offered weakly, her eyes brimming with tears as she knocked back her own glass, wincing as it burnt the back of her throat. _It could have been me_. _It could have been me_. _It could have been me_. The words repeated themselves over and over and over in her mind, the truth of them twisting like a knife in her gut. He nodded in thanks and sipped the alcohol. They were silent for a moment as they finished their drinks, avoiding the other's gaze.

"What I still don't understand, though, is how that relates to the letter." Mary broke the silence first, her voice soft and quiet. Matthew looked up then walked towards her, past her, to the desk, where he gently set his glass down before leaning heavily against it.

"I was angry. _So angry_. It's just such a…bloody senseless waste!" Mary's eyes widened at the curse, but she said nothing, sensing that he had to somehow get it out of his system. "But you can't grieve over there, you just have to get on with it, and I made the arrangements with the medics, and I got back and the letter was still there and… I took it out on you, and I shouldn't have done, and I'm sorry."

Their eyes met again, and she just knew that there was something else, something he wasn't saying, but she didn't want to ask, and he wouldn't tell her if he didn't want to, because to address the unspoken thing… Mary drained her glass before she could finish the thought, and moved to his side, half-tempted to pour them both another drink.

"I'm sorry." She was ashamed that she'd made Matthew feel guilty when he'd been through something so…_horrific_. They had to move on from it though. They just had to. He made a small noise from the back of his throat to acknowledge her apology, understanding her perfectly. She swallowed. It had been easy to ignore, had been easy to pretend that nothing was happening, but now it was here and it was real and she was gripped with panic.

"So, friends?" Matthew eventually spoke, his voice was low, and a small smile flitted across his face as he held out the now wilting yellow rose, slightly squashed from his pocket.

"Friends," Mary repeated, taking it from him with her own smile, feeling heat flood her cheeks as she bowed her head in thanks. She stared at it for a moment, her finger lightly brushing over the petals, before looking up to say something about it, and finding that they were close. Much closer than she'd thought…

His eyes flitted over her face, lingering on her lips for a moment before moving back to her eyes, he smiled as he saw Mary's follow a similar path across his face. Matthew tilted his head slightly, unconsciously, and parted his lips... Mary felt dizzy and warm, and she wasn't sure if it was because of the brandy, or something else... Her heart was thudding loudly in her ears, and he was so impossibly close, and the air around them was electric, thick with tension… She shifted without even thinking about it, and her face was close to his, their eyes locked together, dark with the desire that was now coursing through them, and all she had to do was move her head, a barely imperceptible distance, and they could feel the other's breath, and he moved again, and…

"Excuse me Milady, but the Dowager Countess and Mrs Crawley are here." They sprang apart as Carson's voice travelled through the room, their cheeks red with embarrassment, and... "Her Ladyship was wondering if Lieutenant Crawley will be joining you for luncheon."

"Yes. He will. Please tell them that we'll be through shortly. Thank you Carson," Mary smiled, her heart still racing and her cheeks still warm, and waited until the butler had left before turning back to Matthew. They stood looking at each other, small, nervous smiles gracing their features. "You don't mind do you? About lunch?"

"No, of course not." They stepped towards each other, but it felt awkward now. The moment had passed.

"Right. Well then. Shall we?" Still clutching the flower, Mary breezed out of the room, carefully placing it in her skirt pocket, as Matthew followed slowly behind, both thinking about what could have happened if they hadn't been interrupted, and simultaneously trying not to think about it. It would change everything, and neither was sure that they wanted to think about that, not now. Not yet.

* * *

"I don't see why I can't do my bit. After all, isn't that what Matthew's doing?" Matthew looked up and met Sybil's gaze, before glancing at the Countess, unsure of what to say.

"Sybil, that's different, and anyway, I hardly think that this is the time or the place for such a discussion," Cora hissed, glaring at her youngest daughter. "But I would appreciate it if Doctor Clarkson looked somewhere besides my nursery for his free labour."

"Mama-" Mary started to speak but was interrupted by Isobel.

"But Sybil isn't in the nursery."

"Mother, it is not our place to get involved," Matthew spoke quietly but firmly, the first time he'd spoken since they'd sat down to eat, catching Mary's eye as he looked back to the food in front of him.

"No, Matthew, your mother is right, and it has been many years since Sybil was in the nursery, Cora," Violet interjected, earning a grateful smile from Mary, Matthew and Sybil. "And you can't say that it's not respectable. Every day we see pictures of princesses and duchesses in Red Cross uniforms. Just let her do her bit."

"Thank you Granny. It's good to know that someone is on my side."

"Sybil, enough."

The rest of the meal was eaten in silence, with Sybil, Violet and Isobel sharing triumphant smiles, and Mary and Edith sharing knowing looks.

* * *

"I'm sorry that Sybil put you on the spot like that. She shouldn't have, but you know Sybil," Mary sighed, smiling at Matthew as they walked towards the front door.

"It's alright. It's good that she wants to do something."

"Unlike me, you mean?" She teased, but feeling a sting in her own words.

"Nursing isn't for everyone," he smiled back. Surely she couldn't be thinking of becoming a nurse? It was one thing for Sybil… But for Mary… "Do you think your father will allow it?"

"I don't think he has a choice, not when Granny will make her opinion known!" They laughed quietly, enjoying the familiar ease with one another, the awkwardness from earlier almost completely gone.

"How long are you back for?" The gravel crunched underfoot as they stepped outside and Mary stared down at it, suddenly finding herself unable to look at him.

"Until Wednesday."

"So I'll get to see a bit more of you than last time?" Mary only realised her slip when it was too late, focussing her attention on the ground in front of her as she held her breath, hoping he hadn't noticed.

"Yes, I…hope so." He had heard, but he didn't know if it was intentional or not. Her head snapped up and she met his gaze, wondering if he could mean… They stood looking at each other, both wanting to say something but not quite sure what.

"Can I-"  
"Will you-"

They both spoke at the same time, smiling as he gestured for her to continue, but suddenly interrupted by Isobel, who was keen to get back to the hospital.

"Well, goodbye then," Matthew spoke, almost wistfully, his eyes lingering on hers, something not unnoticed by his mother. Mary nodded, smiling politely as she bid them both goodbye and watched them leave once more.

* * *

_7__th__ June 1915_

"I believe Lady Mary is reading outside sir," Carson smiled as he took the cap and gloves from the young lieutenant, who hadn't actually asked, but who smiled and thanked the butler anyway, before heading to the library and picking a book at random from the shelf and making his way outside.

It didn't take long for Matthew to find Mary; she was settled on a blanket in the shade of the old stone temple, a large hat covering her face, her legs curled to her side, a book open in front of her. He thought about calling a friendly hello to her, but…what if she didn't want company? What if she was this far from the house because she wanted to be alone? And after Saturday… Matthew slowed and quickly glanced back at the house. He could go back, and pretend he was never there. He could just tell Carson that he couldn't find her… Not that the ever-professional butler would even ask. Making a decision, he started to walk back towards the house.

"Matthew?" He froze, before turning and striding back towards her. Mary smiled, she had sensed him approaching, and quiet as he'd been, she'd looked up just to see him turning back to the house, a book clutched under his arm.

"Hello! Carson said you were out here. Can I join you?" He loomed over her, and she squinted in the sunlight as she looked up at him, her heart hammering as he spoke, everything she had felt the other day suddenly bubbling through her at his proximity.

"Of course!" She smiled, and shifted slightly to make room for him, feeling her stomach flutter with nerves, though she didn't know why. Well, she did, but she didn't want to think about it, not yet anyway. Matthew sat opposite her, awkwardly; his back straight and his legs stretched out in front him, as he looked up at the temple, marvelling at the architecture. Mary returned her attention to the pages in front of her, trying to ignore the heat she suddenly felt burning through her as she thought about brandy, and a rose that was currently pressed between the pages of a book and...

"What are you reading?" His voice was soft, as if trying not to interrupt her, but unable to stop himself from talking to her.

"_Dracula_. How about you?" Mary nodded to the book that rested between them, untouched since he'd sat down. He picked it up and glanced at the spine, grimacing as he read it.

"_The Poetry of Burns_," he groaned inwardly, wishing he'd looked at the book before taking it from the shelf.

"Poetry? Well, you do surprise me Matthew," she murmured, raising her eyebrows even though her eyes never left the page. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her shift, causing her skirt to rise up a couple of inches, revealing slim stocking-clad ankles. He swallowed thickly and fidgeted, suddenly feeling far too warm in the still summer air.

"Would you mind if…I removed my jacket?" She looked up and met his gaze, not recognising the look in his eyes.

"Not at all. It is rather warm today, and it's only us, and I don't mind." Mary smiled and swallowed, dropping her head back down, hoping her hat covered her face enough, but she could just about see long, nimble fingers working off the belts and jacket, leaving him in just his shirt. He hesitated for a moment and then rolled the sleeves up. Mary felt her face flame and pulled the book up, covering her face, the air around them was suddenly tense as what had happened two days ago flitted to the front of their minds.

"I wouldn't have pegged you for a reader of poetry," he could hear the smile in her voice, and he opened the volume, flicking through until he found something.

"Well, it's a…fairly recent interest," he smirked, glad then that she wasn't looking at him and so couldn't see him rolling his eyes as he started to speak. "Ae fond kiss, and then we sever; ae farewell and then for ever. Deep in heart wrung tears I'll pledge thee, warring sighs and groans I'll wage-"

He didn't get any further before Mary burst out laughing, surprising – and delighting – him with the sound of it.

"What was that?" She looked at him, eyebrows raised in amusement.

"What? I was reading in the style of Burns," he grinned.

"But you're not actually from Scotland Matthew. If I wanted an authentic reading, I'd go and ask Doctor Clarkson!" He chuckled, enjoying being teased by her. So very different from being teased by the other soldiers. "It's a nice poem, but sad though." He nodded, not wanting to tear his eyes from hers.

"How so?"

"Well, it's about lovers parting, and that's always sad." He was surprised by the softness, the vulnerability, in her voice, and the meaning behind her words. She was as lost in his eyes as he was in hers, and they were warm and the air around them was thick, and they were being assaulted by memories and feelings, their chests rising and falling as they took shallow breaths…

"So, _Dracula_ then?" Matthew eventually said after a few minutes, licking his lips and looking back down at the book in his lap, frowning to himself as confused thoughts raced around his brain. Something had changed between them and he didn't know what, or why, or how, just that it had.

"Yes. I decided to give Dickens a rest. Have you read it?"

"No. Is it any good?"

"Good so far. It was written in Whitby you know."

"Yes." He paused and glanced at her, not that he could see much with her hat obscuring her face. An idea occurred to him and he smiled to himself, saying the words before the thought was even fully formed. "We should go one day."

Their eyes snapped up at the same time, both realising what he'd said. Mary was certain her heart had stopped. Was he suggesting a day out for just the two of them? Friends did that, didn't they? She wasn't sure that they did, it didn't seem _proper_... But then if he was suggesting… But he couldn't be, could he? Her head ached from the endless cycle of thoughts.

"I mean, with the rest of the family as well, of course. We should all go, one day. Not just us," he blustered, cursing himself as he blushed, praying she wouldn't notice. It was improper to suggest taking an unmarried woman out for a day...and they were friends, and to go out alone would imply that they were more than that, and he knew she didn't think of him like that…

"Oh. Yes alright. You'd better speak to Papa about it." Though she was smiling, she couldn't keep the flat tone out of her voice. She knew it was silly to feel disappointed but she couldn't help it.

"Well. I suppose that's settled it then," he replied just as flatly, knowing that he couldn't very well take it back now, both sighing as an awkward silence settled over them, wondering what on earth it all meant.

* * *

_9__th__ June 1915_

The rest of Matthew's leave passed well enough. He spent more time with Mary, though there was a new tension between them, ever present, and the sense that they were both holding back on saying something, but he didn't want to think about what it could be, because he couldn't get his hopes up. He'd done that before, and he'd been hurt, and he just…_couldn't_. Not again. Instead, he just enjoyed her company, her gentle mocking, her dark gaze, and didn't let his thoughts intrude and spoil their precious time together.

He had kissed her cheek this time, before he'd boarded the train. His stomach had fluttered as he had debated it over and over, wondering whether it was too forward, too improper, too…anything. In the end, gut instinct had won, and he was glad it had as he had pulled away and seen her small but surprised smile, and the faint pink hue that coloured her cheeks, the sight warming him from head to toe.

Mary slowly strolled through the village, feeling far happier than she had the last time she'd seen him off at the station, and not just because she hadn't had to get up so early this time. Things were…different this time… Well, it seemed like they were anyway.

"Mary!" The voice startled her from her reverie and she spun round to see the source. Isobel was stood in the garden of Crawley House, watching the younger woman. "Would you care to come inside for some tea?"

The request surprised Mary, and she blinked, and then her breeding kicked in and she smiled. "That would be lovely, thank you."

The two women didn't say much as they went inside, as Molesley took Mary's hat and coat, as they went into the sitting room, waiting for the tea. Isobel watched as Mary looked around the room, a small smile gracing her features as she imagined Matthew in here.

"Had you been to see him off?" Her brown eyes quickly met Isobel's and she nodded once.

"Yes. You don't mind do you?" Mary suddenly felt panicked that she had somehow taken time away from mother and son.

"Of course not. I'm glad he has a friend. He told me that you've been writing." The older woman's voice was calm and matter-of-fact, and Mary thought that she must be a very good nurse with such a kindly authoritative tone. Isobel stood suddenly and moved to the fireplace, lifting something from the mantle. "He's like his father you know. Very much like him. He looks like him, of course, though perhaps a little taller. But it's his temperament. They were both quiet, and kind." She crossed the room and passed the photograph to Mary, who gasped at the likeness of son to father.

"He said he looked like his father," Isobel looked at Mary, confused. "In one of his letters, he mentioned his moustache, and said he looked like…Doctor Crawley, and he really does." Isobel nodded and smiled, blinking away the tears that had filled her eyes.

"You will be good to him won't you?"

"We're not… We're just friends," Mary offered weakly, knowing instantly what Isobel meant.

"Of course you are, my dear," Isobel smiled as _Hamlet_ came to mind, not entirely convinced after everything she had witnessed between them. Though she was not alone in that, as Mary thought back to the photograph and small stack of letters in her drawer.

Friends…and they were, as they never had been before.

* * *

_Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts!_

_A/N: A yellow rose symbolises friendship, Matthew was reading 'Ae Fond Kiss' by Robert Burns, and Isobel was thinking of Gertrude's line "The lady doth protest too much, methinks." (Hamlet, 3.2).  
_


	5. Chapter 5

_Happy Monday! Apologies for the delay. This chapter has gone in a completely different direction than I thought it would, which is always fun! Thank you, as always, for your continued support. It means so much to me! Thank you also to __OrangeShipper_,_ who has – again – been wonderful and listened to me go on about this when I've had no idea where it was taking me!_

_On that note, enjoy!_

* * *

Chapter 5

_12__th__ June 1915_

Mary was thinking. She'd been thinking since she'd left Crawley House the other day. While the invitation to have tea with Isobel had been unexpected, Mary could honestly say that she had enjoyed it, and she knew that it was more than because it was at _his_ home with _his_ mother.

She had noticed that the deep love and fierce pride that Isobel felt for her son was evident in every word she spoke about him and every fond glance to the photograph of him above the fireplace, and Mary's heart had swelled with her own pride that she could consider this man her friend. A friend but nothing more. And yet… Isobel seemed to know something, had hinted that there was more between them than just friendship. Maybe Mary couldn't hide her feelings as well she fancied she did, because it couldn't be that Matthew…felt the same. Could it? No. But then…the library, and the rose, and then outside, and the train station…

Mary closed her eyes as she remembered the feel of his lips against her cheek, so familiar with memories from another lifetime, but at the same time, new and different; how his cap had lightly knocked against her hat, how the coarse hair of his moustache had brushed against her skin, tickling her cheek… And then she wondered about what might have happened in the library, if Carson had not interrupted them… Shaking her head, she dragged herself out of her unproductive daydreams, wonderful though they were. It was all so terribly confusing. Matthew couldn't see her as anything more than a friend, but so far, there were hints that he might… But she couldn't hope, couldn't dare to dream that that _could_ be true. She knew she'd hurt him, in more ways than one, and he didn't seem to harbour any resentment over that now, but still…

She frowned as she felt a dull ache in her head from the cyclical nature of her thoughts, and knew what she could to do relieve it.

_Dear Matthew,_

_I hope you don't mind me writing so soon. I also hope that your journey back over there was a pleasant one. I know that's probably the only thing that will be at least halfway decent for you for a while._

_I've had tea with your mother. She saw me as I was walking back from the station and invited me in. She showed me a photograph of your father. He was very handsome. You look just like him._

Mary smiled to herself. Everything was always so much easier to say in a letter than face to face. Well, everything except for…_that_. He really was so very handsome though, and he really did look exactly like his father, though according to Isobel, Reginald's hair had been darker.

_He sounds like he was a good man. I'm sure you both must miss him terribly._

_It's only been a few days, but some things have already changed. Isobel has managed to find a place on a training course for Sybil, so she'll be leaving us soon, for two months! She'll only be in York, but it will be strange not to have her around. She seems so young, still. Mama is anxious of course, but Papa seems to have accepted it with good grace. Not that either of them will say anything though; Granny is currently Sybil's fiercest champion! Edith and I are both going to miss her a great deal I think; but at least we still have our driving lessons to keep us occupied._

_Please take care of yourself, and I hope that things aren't too grim over there._

_Mary._

* * *

_30__th__ June 1915_

"KEEP GOING! HERE!" Between the two of them, they half-carried half-dragged the man back across the land that only weeks ago had been a green field. The trenches came into sight and they shouted for help, carefully lowering the body down the ladder into the waiting arms of the medics, following swiftly as another blast shook everything around them.

"Thank you Sir." The younger man briefly saluted the officer before rushing after the medics. Matthew nodded and took a moment to sink back against the side of the trench, taking a deep breath. Another man saved, though how much of him would be saved was a different matter, but he had done his best. He was tired, so very, very tired; every fibre of his being ached in protest as he pushed himself upright and away from the wall. He hadn't slept in days. No one had.

Another blast, sending debris and mud and rocks into the trench, making them duck their heads, flinching as it hit them.

"GET DOWN!" He called as another one exploded near them, watching as the men around him all pressed themselves against the trench. Another and another and another… It had been like this for days; just relentless attacks that shook them to their very core, that made them tremble even in the rare moments of silence. He started moving along the trench, heading to where he knew the Captain would be, stopping as another explosion – closer and louder than the others – knocked him into someone with its force.

Then…

Silence. It seemed to be over, for now at least. They all stood, catching each other's eyes uncertainly, not daring to hope that the Germans could have tired, run out of ammunition…anything. Minutes passed…and…nothing.

"I think we can all rest easy for a few moments!" Matthew spoke quietly, eliciting nervous chuckles as the soldiers went back to their duties, and Matthew knew what he had to do.

_Mary,_

_Thank you for your letter. I'm only sorry that I have not been able to reply sooner. We are busy, and as such I have not had time to write. Honestly, I haven't really wanted to write, because if I do then it means making you a part of my life here, and I don't want that. Please don't be offended by that; I only mean that you don't belong here. I'm sorry; I don't know how else to explain it._

_I'm glad that you and Mother are getting along. At least…if something should happen, I can take comfort from that. I do miss my father, a great deal. Yet sometimes, I don't miss him at all. Does that make me a terrible person? I've often thought it does. He was a good man though, the best, in fact. I wish you could have met him._

Matthew stared at the page. Did he want to say that? It had been so long since he'd spoken about his father to someone other than his mother. He smiled faintly to himself. His father, he knew, would have been taken with Mary in an instant; with her dark eyes and sharp wit. Well, isn't that exactly what had entranced him too? He let his mind wander for a moment, let it drift back to the library, and outside… allowing that niggling thought to creep into his mind. For the first time in a long time, he realised that there was a very slight possibility that she…_might_, but he still couldn't be completely sure. But…they had almost kissed, and she thought him handsome…didn't she? He quickly re-read her letter. It _sounded_ like that's what she meant… He sighed, confused, and carried on.

_I'm very pleased for Sybil; I hope she's getting along alright! I ran into your footman the other day, Thomas. He's a corporal in the medical corps, though I'm sure you knew that already. It was strange to see someone from Downton here; it was like the two worlds colliding._

_I hope the driving is going well, and please try not to worry about me too much._

_Take care,_

_Matthew._

* * *

_14__th__ July 1915_

_Matthew,_

_I'm sorry that you're busy again. I can't imagine how difficult it must be over there. Papa said that Thomas joined before the war even started. How strange that you should see him. It is a small world sometimes._

_Darling Sybil… She is definitely enjoying herself, which seems odd given the nature of what she's doing. She's only got about five weeks left now. I do miss her. Edith and I went to York to visit her on her free day though, and we had tea, which was nice. I've also had tea with Isobel again. I think she enjoys the company, and she's also keen to hear how Sybil's getting on. Though really, my sister should write to her herself, but I suppose she just about remembers to write to Mama._

_I think I understand what you mean, and I'm not offended. But we are friends Matthew; you can offend me all you like! You're not a terrible person for not missing your father though. Christina Rossetti wrote "Better by far you should forget and smile than that you should remember and be sad", and it's true. The people who leave us wouldn't want us to spend the rest of our lives mourning them. You just have to carry on, and carry on for them. You loved your father, and he loved you and would be very proud of you._

_When you're next home, I will take you out for a drive, if you want to.  
_

_Mary._

* * *

_29__th__ July 1915_

_Mary,_

_Thank you. Truly. Your letters are a great comfort to me you know. I think I've read the Rossetti poem. 'Remember' isn't it?_

"_Remember me when I am gone away, gone far away into the silent land" or something like that. It's not quite Burns…_

_Things are…quiet again, which is a relief. Quiet means rest, and sleep. We're all tired, so it's nice to have a break, not that these brief moments of respite can be called that. I'm sorry, I don't mean to sound so miserable, but it's hard to be cheerful all the time._

_Mother has said that there is talk of turning Downton into a convalescent home. I can't say I'm surprised. I hope that it won't intrude too much into your lives though. But it means that it's showing no sign of being over, still._

_I'd like very much to go out for a drive, though I've no idea when that will be at the moment, but I'll be sure to hold you to it! I am glad to hear that Sybil seems to be doing so well though. She'll be back at home in no time._

_Matthew._

* * *

_12__th__ August 1915_

_Matthew,_

_I'm glad it's quiet. The quieter it is, the less you talk about "something happening". You really should try and get some sleep while you can. You'll be no good to anyone if you can barely keep your eyes open._

_Yes, it is 'Remember'. It seems, Matthew, that I have underestimated your abilities, for a change! Perhaps you could be the next Byron, (or Blake, or Coleridge), should you ever fancy a change from the law, and with your sporting aspirations firmly set aside._

_Yes, it's true about Downton. It's all happened rather quickly. Thomas has been invalided out and was working with Clarkson at the hospital, and then the next thing we knew, it had been suggested to Papa, and now here we are. Granny is completely against the idea, of course. She thought that we'd be giving up the whole house (even though she doesn't actually live here), but we have been allowed to keep some rooms. Mama is the one that has pushed this through, with Isobel's help. I don't mean to speak badly of your mother, but she is very determined when she has a cause!_

_You're right though. I suspect that it will be a long time before things return to normal. Speaking of which, Sybil returns next week as Nurse Crawley. She is in full support of the house being changed though._

_Look after yourself,_

_Mary._

* * *

_25__th__ August 1915_

_Mary,_

_I am perfectly aware of how Mother is, and you must tell her if she's interfering. Sometimes, I don't think she realises just how…determined she can be. I doubt I could be the next Byron unless I actually wrote something, and I fear that is where I reach a stumbling block. So you see, it is a solicitor's life for me, but I don't mind. At least I know those years spent toiling away at university weren't a waste after all! _

_Now, my dear, you mustn't worry, but I have something to tell you. I've been injured. It's nothing too serious. It's not serious at all, really – it's just a broken arm – but it means that I am on desk duty for a while, and nowhere near the front you'll be pleased to hear! Please accept my apologies for the short letter, but it is a struggle with only one hand (even though, luckily, I didn't break the arm I actually need to use!). Would you also pass on the message to Mother, and tell her that I'll write properly to her as soon as I can? I do appreciate it._

_Matthew._

* * *

_7__th__ September 1915_

_Injured_. Matthew was injured. _My dear_. _Injured_. Mary's head was spinning. It was a possibility, of course it was, but that didn't mean that she actually thought that it would happen to him. But then…"my dear". What did that mean? Yes it was something her parents and grandmother called her, but from Matthew… Maybe he hadn't meant it. Maybe someone else was writing for him. Maybe, maybe, maybe…

_Matthew,_

_You can't tell me not to worry and then say that you're injured! I'm glad it's not more serious, but how on earth did you manage to break your arm? I did tell Isobel, and no doubt you have already received the telegram that she said she was going to send. I suppose I should say happy birthday as well. Happy birthday for yesterday! I'm sorry I can't send you any cake, or even a proper present but I've enclosed something and I hope that will suffice. I hope you had a good day in any case._

_The convalescent home is up and running now. It's only for officers though. I'm spending more time out on Diamond, just to stay out of the way. To say that it has been an easy transition would be a lie. Sybil is also back, but I hardly see her. She's always at the hospital or with a patient. I think we only see her for dinner now._

_Please, take care of yourself, and that means no heroics while your arm is still bandaged!_

_Mary._

_P.S. Isobel told me to ask you about the apples. She said you'd know what it means..._

* * *

_19__th__ September 1915_

He flexed his fingers, his arm aching, ignoring the constant itch underneath the cast. Just two more weeks and the blasted thing was coming off. He was just about used to it now. Just about. He leaned uncomfortably on his arm, wincing as he struggled to keep the paper still. Thank god he hadn't broken his right arm. He really didn't know how he would have coped with that.

_Mary,_

_I am sorry that I worried you, but it's nothing, really. Well, it's an annoyance. You don't realise how dependent you are on all of your limbs until you can't use one of them! As for how it happened…you must promise not to laugh, which is probably a futile request I know. _

_We were quiet, and some of the senior officers thought that we should do something useful with our time, and so it was suggested that I should perhaps have a go on one of the cavalry horses. Now, this is where I am embarrassed to tell you what happened because it really was very silly, but…I climbed on the horse, and then my foot slipped in the stirrup and I just…fell off and landed on my arm._

_I absolutely will not tell you about the apples, as I suspect that my mother has already done so! I'm all for you getting along, but I hope she's not telling you too much._

_I do have some good news though. I am to be promoted to Captain! One of the generals has asked me to accompany him to help boost recruitment. It also means I'm coming home for a while, at least a couple of months. I don't know yet when I'll be back but I imagine that it will be soon._

_Thank you for the drawing of the cake. It's the thought that counts, I suppose. I shouldn't tease though, because I can't draw, and lord knows you'll only get me back for falling off a horse!_

_I'm glad to hear about the Abbey. Do you know that might be just the sort of thing that the General would want to see. I think I'll suggest a visit to him._

_I am taking care; I'm not allowed to do anything!_

_Matthew._

* * *

_30__th__ September 1915_

_Matthew,_

_It was a futile request. I would say something but you have anticipated me. So all I will say is that when you're back, I'll teach you how to ride properly. I'm sure that Lynch must still have the training reins somewhere…_

_Congratulations! I for one won't object to anything that keeps you away from the front. I'm sure your mother and my father would agree. I do hope that you're able to visit us soon. It feels like it's been too long, which seems silly I know._

_Isobel hasn't told me much. Just about the apples, and the Vicar's garden, and your father's medical bag. Oh, and your turn as Alice in the school play, so really not a lot at all._

_I can go out in the motor by myself now, and Papa doesn't mind. It's wonderful! I drove myself and Edith to Ripon the other day. She's found herself a job on a local farm. Their labourer has signed up and they have no one to drive the tractor, so Edith has volunteered her services._

_I hope you're arm isn't giving you too much trouble._

_Mary._

* * *

_14__th__ October 1915_

_Mary,_

_I thought as much. I think I'll leave the riding to those that can actually manage it though. We've already established that my skills are suited to an office, and nowhere else it seems! I know what you mean. Time is an interesting concept here. I know that it's October, but I struggled to remember what day it was! It all runs into one. Yet, it's only been four months since I was last home. It seems longer, and yet like no time at all._

_I can't believe she told you about Alice. You do understand that it's because there were no girls at my school, don't you? Is it too much to hope that she didn't tell you about the costume?_

_Good for Edith! And good for you! I look forward to an outing now, and you can't be that bad if Branson and your father approve. I've finally had my cast removed. It's quite strange being able to use both arms again, and being able to wear my jacket properly._

_I hope to see you soon, very soon in fact._

_Matthew._

* * *

_18__th__ October 1915_

"So you've not heard from him?" Isobel frowned as she looked up from the papers in front of her.

"No, not for a while. He must be busy; that's what he's said in the past when there's been a delay in him replying. Haven't you?"

"No. Not even a telegram."

"I'm sure if there was something serious, they'd let you know."

Mary shrugged, turning away from Isobel to collect more glasses, her smile faltering as she thought that it was strange. She hadn't heard from him for almost a month now, and she was worried, especially after the incident with the horse, even though that was of his own making.

"You mean how they did with his arm?" Isobel's voice came from behind her, as if the older woman was reading her mind.

"I don't think it was that serious. I'm sure he'll be in touch soon," Mary smiled at Isobel and picked up the tray and carried it towards the library, narrowly missing the khaki-clad figure that was suddenly in front of her.

"Oh, I am sorry…" she trailed off as she looked up, meeting the gaze of the officer stood before her, unable to stop her lips curving into a smile.

* * *

_A/n: I make no apologies for any of that. : )_

_Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts!_


	6. Chapter 6

_Happy Monday! Thank you, as always, for your kind words and continuing support. It really is appreciated! This chapter does not quite follow the usual pattern, but I do have my reasons. Also, this is another one that has taken a slightly different turn than intended – they just won't behave sometimes!_

_And on that note, enjoy!_

* * *

Chapter 6

_18__th__ October 1915_

_"Oh, I am sorry…" she trailed off as she looked up, meeting the gaze of the officer stood before her, unable to stop her lips curving into a smile._

"Hello," his bright eyes sparkled as he returned the smile, pleased that he seemed to have surprised her.

"You're back!" Mary cursed herself for stating the obvious, but also suddenly finding herself unable to think clearly. He was here, and he was alive, and he was _here._ She quickly glanced over the smart, clean khaki, and the gold braids that now decorated his shoulder. Matthew chuckled softly, losing himself in her dark eyes, wanting to reach for her…or…_something_.

"Matthew!" Isobel's voice broke through their fog and he turned, smiling broadly at his mother and bending to kiss her cheek. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, we start our tour of Yorkshire and Lancashire tomorrow, and the general knew you lived up here so he's given me a few hours off," he smiled, but it faltered when her smile quickly disappeared and turned into a frown.

"And you didn't think to write? To at least let me know that you're still alive?"

"Well…I…"

Mary smiled to herself as she continued to her intended destination, the bustle of the hall drowning out Isobel's scolding of her son.

"There you are. I wondered where you'd disappeared to," his voice came from behind her several minutes later and she smiled but didn't turn, instead handing a glass to the nearest man, twisting smoothly as she wound her way through the crowded room, smiling again as she felt him follow after her.

"Well, it seemed like Isobel had everything under control. Besides, I'm very busy." He smirked and picked up an empty glass from the table, feeling the need to do something.

"So I see. I don't think I'm quite forgiven for not telling her about my arm." Mary turned then to face him and raised her eyebrows.

"No I don't suppose you are."

"I don't know why though. I asked you to tell her, which you did, and I'm fine now." Mary tilted her head and smiled, thinking that for someone so very clever, he really could be dense at times.

"You really don't understand it?" His brow creased in confusion as he caught the teasing tone in her voice, not quite understanding what she was insinuating, and shook his head. "Let's see if you figure it out shall we?" With that she turned away and resumed her task.

Not for the first time, Matthew watched after Mary and wondered about her. Sometimes she was so cryptic. Even his mother, who was always so honest with him, was annoyed and he could not for the life of him fathom the reason behind it. He'd been injured but he'd told Mary to pass on the message, and she had done so. As he watched Mary, watched her flit gracefully between the seated men, handing out glasses of water and smiling and chatting easily with them, it dawned on him. He had told Mary to tell his mother. His first thought on landing on the ground next to the horse had not been for the woman that had brought him into the world and raised him, who loved him unconditionally; it had been for the woman that he loved so completely but who only wanted to be his friend. He smiled wryly to himself at the admittance of his feelings, and followed her across the room, hardly able to believe that it was the same place that they had stood in only four months earlier. He picked up some empty glasses and turned to her, finding that they were next to a screen which had split the library into two rooms. Presumably so that the family could have some privacy, he thought to himself.

"I hadn't cast you as Florence Nightingale," Matthew teased her gently.

"I can't explain myself, I'm afraid sir, because I'm not myself you see," she replied, her lips quirking before she schooled her expression into something more neutral. He frowned as the words nudged something in his brain. They seemed familiar, but…why? Then…he realised.

"Ah. I did wonder if I would escape from comments about that," he sounded annoyed but the smile on his face told Mary that he wasn't, not really.

"Of course not darling." The word slipped from her lips without conscious thought and she only heard it when it was too late, when he had heard it too. Their eyes met and their hearts started racing. It felt like time had stopped, and everything else faded into the background… _Darling_. _Darling_. _Darling_. It hung in the air as they stared at each other, as – unconsciously – eyes dropped to mouths, and that strange dizzy sensation pulsed through them… Mary felt hot, cold…she couldn't tell. Her lips parted and her head tilted, just slightly, ignoring the twenty or so men that were around them.

Matthew wanted to kiss her. Every fibre of his being was screaming at him to do so, to just lean in and brush his lips against hers… He took half a step towards her, his hand reaching out for hers…

"Mary, there you are. Mama was wondering if you'd done the drawing room yet. Oh hello Matthew, I didn't realise you were back." Edith hovered uncertainly, sensing that she had somehow interrupted something. Mary turned to her sister, hoping that she hid her disappointment, and picked up the tray.

"Not yet Edith, I just was just going." She turned back to Matthew and smiled at him, but it was a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I should…carry on. Perhaps I'll see you later." She made to leave when she felt a hand on her arm.

"Maybe…I could help, if you like?" Matthew didn't want their time cut short, and at least he'd be helping, and surely no one would mind that. Mary smiled warmly and nodded at him and led him back through the house.

A short while later, when Mary had done as much as she was allowed to do (according to Sybil and Isobel), she led Matthew into the closed off bit of the library and rang for some tea.

"How long are you in England for?"

"A couple of months, until Christmas at least. Oh, I have something for you," he smiled as he pulled out the slightly crumpled envelope from his pocket. "I wrote it on the boat. I hope you didn't think I'd forgotten." Mary took it from him, their fingers lightly brushing against each other's, and set it down next to her. Their conversation was polite, awkward; the tension from earlier still filling the air around them.

"Well…I should go before they think I'm deserting," Matthew forced a smile at his own poor joke as he stood, reluctant to leave.

"Yes," Mary nodded, clutching at the envelope, and walked them to the front door. "Oh, how is your arm?" She asked, almost as an afterthought, keeping him with her for a few seconds longer. As she said it, her hand reached out and lightly touched his left sleeve, a current passing through them even at this almost nothing gesture.

"It's fine. It aches a bit if I lean on it, but I'll live." He smiled, ignoring the hammering in his chest and roaring in his ears. Maybe, just maybe…

This time when they said goodbye, there was no kiss on the cheek, no drawn out farewell, just a small smile and a short reply as they tried not to notice the curious looks from both of their mothers, Robert, and even those of the servants that passed them.

* * *

_20__th__ October 1915_

_Matthew,_

_It was lovely to see you the other day. I hope your tour of the counties is going well. At least we know you're safe at the moment, unless Lancashire has suddenly become incredibly dangerous. If that is the case, I would definitely avoid Cheshire if you can!_

_I do know that you were Alice because of a lack of girls. I also know that you apparently looked lovely in the pale blue dress and pinafore. Although, Isobel said that she remains confused as to why you wore it after the play had finished…_

_Next time you're back, I will definitely take you out for a drive, or you might start to think I'm making it up._

_Mary._

* * *

_25__th__ October 1915_

_Mary,_

_The tour is going well so far. There's a lot of interest, especially from younger boys. I know they want to do their duty, but some of them barely look like they're out of the schoolroom. It's not right. They shouldn't have to go, not yet. We've not seen much of Lancashire yet. We're here for two weeks at least, then back to Yorkshire._

_I give up. She has told everything hasn't she? Everything about my childhood? I don't quite know what else to say. Please don't mock me too cruelly for it, or I'll have to ask your father some of the tales he could tell about you._

_I was starting to wonder. I've been back three times now, and still no outing. Really Mary…_

_Matthew._

* * *

_29__th__ October 1915_

_Matthew,_

_I can't imagine how difficult it must be seeing these young men sign up, but it is honourable that they want to. Our other footman, William has signed up. He leaves for his training in a few days or so I think. I don't know who's more worried, Papa or Carson._

_Speaking of my Papa, I doubt you'd be able to find out much. Edith, Sybil and I spent a great deal of time with nannies and governesses. Carson would know more than Papa. Your mother has told me a lot of things about you as a boy, but it's very clear Matthew, that she absolutely adores you, and she's fiercely proud of you._

_Well, I shall kidnap you if necessary. So much fuss just for a tour of the estate! Perhaps when you're back in Yorkshire I'll get to see you again._

_Mary._

* * *

_3__rd__ November 1915_

_Mary,_

_I've been trapped in an office for three days processing the paperwork of the new recruits. Apparently, I am more useful in an administrative capacity than anything else this week!_

_So Carson is the man to talk to? I'll bear that in mind. I'm sure I could find a way to get something out of him… _

_I miss Mother, I do. It's been a while since I've been away from her for so long. Even when I was at university, I always came home at the end of every term._

_I'm looking forward to this outing more and more! I still don't know when it might be though, I'm afraid._

_Matthew._

* * *

_8__th__ November 1915_

_Matthew,_

_I hope they've released you from the desk for a little while. I know that you're to be released later this week in any case. Papa said that the general has requested a tour of the convalescent home, and that you'll probably be coming with him. I hope so._

_Carson wouldn't tell you a thing, no matter what you offered! If you want to know anything about my childhood, you could just ask me, and if you asked very nicely I might feel inclined to share something with you._

_It's strange writing such short letters, but I do prefer only waiting for a day or two, rather than weeks, for a reply._

_Mary._

* * *

_12__th__ November 1915_

The car pulled up and Matthew hopped out, leading the general to where the family were gathered, introducing them, and wincing as his mother interrupted and introduced herself. Mary caught his eye over Isobel's shoulder and smiled warmly; waiting for him as he held back and everyone else went inside.

"How has she been?" Matthew nodded towards his mother's retreating back. "I'm sure she must be driving Cousin Cora mad!"

"No names, no pack drill," Mary smirked, crossing her lips with her finger. "Are you just here for today?"

"Yes, and for dinner as well. I should have an hour or so free later on, so we can go for that overdue drive. Unless, of course, you don't want me?" He grinned at her, his expression full of mischief.

"Of course I want you, very much," Mary replied after a moment's hesitation, and she found herself sinking into the brilliant blue of his eyes, the air between them thickening as it seemed like her words carried a deeper meaning that neither wanted to think too much about. It was Matthew who spoke first, after what felt like an age, but was really only seconds.

"Well, I should go in, if only to stop my mother telling the general about my role as Alice!" They laughed nervously and followed after everyone else.

* * *

"And you don't mind Branson?"

"No Milady. Nor does his lordship, I did ask Mr Carson to check," he bobbed his head and smiled at Captain Crawley, who was stood hovering near to them. "Would you like me to start it for you?"

"Yes, thank you."

"I thought you were going to do it all," Matthew teased.

"Not today. I'm only doing the driving. I'm already taking some of Branson's job away from him, I'd better not take it all," Mary raised her eyebrows and the two men smiled at each other. Mary climbed into the front seat of the car and settled herself, glancing over the steering wheel and mirrors while Matthew watched her in fascination.

"Is she any good Branson? She said she was," Matthew murmured to the chauffeur.

"She is, sir. Better than Lady Edith, and much better than Lady Sybil. If you don't mind me saying, surely it's safer to have a lady drive you around the estate than what you're doing in France?"

Matthew chuckled, "Well, I suppose you're right. I may not need it, but wish me luck Branson!" With that, he climbed in the front next to Mary, and was pleasantly surprised when she slowly and smoothly pulled out of the garage, leaving Branson watching after them as he silently prayed that the car would come back in one piece.

"So where are we going?" Matthew turned to look at her profile, her expression one of concentration, smiling as he noticed her occasionally biting her lip, something he didn't think he'd seen her do before.

"Oh, just around the estate. We can't be too long. Heaven forbid if we're late for dinner!" He laughed and Mary smiled indulgently. Though it was a cold day, it was bright and fresh with a clear sky, and the clean air filled Matthew's lungs as they wound down country lanes, the trees and hedges a blur of browns and greens as they chatted easily about a number things (though if asked, neither would be would be able to remember what they'd talked about). Mary drove them up a winding road, eventually coming to a stop at a high point that looked down across the countryside.

They got out and took in the view in silence, the awareness settling over them both that they were completely alone, and there was no chance of being interrupted. There was nothing, no sound but the occasional distant calls of birds that soared high above them. Matthew's heart was racing. Everything he'd felt for…months, if he was being honest with himself, bubbled through him, and he wondered if there was a right moment where one simply gave in to an urge…

Mary clenched her hands at her sides. He was close, only a few inches away, and if she reached out her hand, she knew she would find his. It was tempting; very, very tempting. She swallowed as she chanced a glance at him. He was stood tall and straight, his gaze fixed on the view before them. A small tuft of hair was sticking out of his cap, just by his ear, and his lips were curved into the gentlest of smiles.

Without even thinking about it, Matthew tentatively removed his hand from behind his back and reached for Mary's, slipping it easily around hers; a paralysing warmth spreading through them both at the touch, even though both hands were covered in soft leather gloves. Mary felt her cheeks heat up and a smile form, but she kept her eyes in front of her, not trusting herself if she looked at him. She gently squeezed his hand and smiled when he returned the gesture.

All Matthew had to do was turn slightly, and bend his head. That was it… They wouldn't be interrupted, they weren't being watched... The pressure of her hand in his was potent, overwhelming. They didn't know how long they stayed like that, the tension building constantly as desire coursed through them, aware of every movement the other made, both finding that they were unable to speak. They both turned at the same time, gasping as their eyes met; dark and glittering, their lips parted and chests rising and falling quickly...

"Mary-" Matthew breathed, and his eyes drifted over her face, drinking her in as he leaned forwards and...

"We should go…before it starts to get dark," Mary pulled her hand free and strode back to the car, her heart pounding in panic, excitement, lust…she didn't know. Matthew's eyes closed and he shook his head, before following her. They drove back in silence; awkward, tense and fragile, afraid to speak in case it all shattered around them.

Mary stopped the car outside the garage, noticing Branson's expression of relief as he saw that there was no damage to the motor. Matthew leapt out first and moved round to hold the door open for Mary, unsuccessfully trying to catch her eye.

"Well, I'll see you at dinner then," Mary smiled, staring past his ear and walked off, leaving Matthew watching in confused disbelief.

Mary hurried back to her room as quickly as she could, passing Carson as he went to ring the dressing gong. What she had seen in Matthew's eyes had…scared her with its intensity. It had burnt through her very soul and made her catch her breath. Powerful, intense…_love_… It was exactly how she felt, and for the first time it had made her wonder – _really _wonder – if her feelings could be…_were_ reciprocated.

* * *

The dinner passed without incident, and the general was impressed with how Downton was being run. Yet Mary and Matthew could only smile and nod, hearing the conversation but not really paying attention. They prickled with awareness of the other, the air between them thick and charged, though unnoticed by everyone else.

The family made their way outside and all Matthew could think was that he couldn't leave with things as they were, having not spoken a word to each other in hours and a tension so strong it felt like a physical ache. He shook Robert's hand, kissed his mother's cheek, and before he could change his mind, he stood himself in front of Mary, reaching for her gloved hand and raised it, brushing his lips over her knuckles in the lightest of kisses, surprising her with the gesture. Their eyes met and they both swallowed, feeling heat rise through them as they sensed the weight of everyone's gaze on them.

"Look after yourself," he almost whispered, smiling faintly at her.

"You too." He lingered for a second longer, and then…he was gone.

"Did you see that? Robert, what do you think is going on?" Cora spoke in a low voice, leaning towards her husband. Robert smiled and glanced at Mary, whose eyes were fixed on the disappearing car, before turning to his wife.

"I think, my dear, that he's courting her."

* * *

_A/n: Mary is quoting __Alice in Wonderland__ to Matthew, specifically an exchange between Alice and the caterpillar. Also, this is going on my knowledge that Yorkshire isn't a flat county, and the assumption that the Downton estate is huge!  
_

_Thank you for reading. As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts!_


	7. Chapter 7

_Thank you for all of your support. I am genuinely overwhelmed by it! Thank you as well to Orangeshipper, who has let me throw ideas at her like they're going out of fashion. I'm very excited about this chapter, and I have been for quite some time, so on that note…_

…_Enjoy!_

* * *

Chapter 7

_23__rd__ December 1915_

They hadn't written.

It had been over a month since their outing and since he had kissed her hand in front of everyone, and everything had shifted again. The fact that their feelings could be returned was a very real possibility, and it terrified and exhilarated them both in equal measure, and so some unspoken agreement had passed between them, and neither had picked up pen and paper and shared their thoughts as they had done for almost a year now. Not that either of them would have known what to say anyway. Oh they knew what they _wanted_ to say, and the words screamed inside their heads, threatening to burst out with every breath, but that would be too much. Yet the gentle teasing and stories that had filled their previous letters was now – somehow – not enough, and so they said nothing, instead passing their news through Isobel: he was fine but keen to return to France, she was fine and helping at the Abbey and going out riding when she could.

It was something that baffled Isobel; she had seen his gesture last time he'd left, and she'd heard the exchange between the Earl and Countess, and had realised that Robert was right, and the missing picture from above the fireplace now made sense. If Matthew was courting Mary, and the feelings were returned, then _why_ weren't they writing to each other? It continued to play on Isobel's mind as Christmas quickly approached and she realised that she'd have to tell the family that Matthew would be back for a few days.

Now, he was pacing around the sitting room, stopping every so often and staring off into the distance, then moving again. Isobel looked up at him from the writing desk, sighing as his restlessness disturbed her once more.

"What is it?"

"What?" Matthew spun round to look at Isobel, who was looking at him as if she was about to tell him off, her hands folded in her lap, his eyes wide in surprise.

"Well, you're not wearing a hole in the carpet for nothing. Either sit down, or kindly move to another room." Matthew ducked his head, chastened, but he didn't move. "Matthew?"

He sighed, he wanted to tell her, but at the same time…

"It's about presents, for Christmas."

"I see. I hope I don't need to tell you that Father Christmas isn't actually real," Isobel smiled, sensing her son had something else in mind.

"No, I know that," he smiled back but it faltered just as quickly.

"Then what is it? I got everything that was on the list that you sent me. Unless there was something else that you wanted to get for someone?" Isobel raised her eyebrows with a smile, and Matthew swallowed, not really wanting to tell his mother where his thoughts were leading him, even though she seemed to suspect something anyway.

"No, no. I didn't…want to… Never mind, it's nothing. I'm going out for a while. I'll be back this afternoon," he went to kiss her cheek and hurried out the room as she watched him in amusement. He might not have said anything, but Isobel knew her son better than he thought she did, and she knew exactly where he was going to go, and why.

* * *

_25__th__ December 1915_

Christmas could not have been more different than those of years past. Though many of the officers had gone home for the holiday, or returned to the front, there were still some at the house, and the family's celebrations had to change accordingly, and so they found themselves confined to the drawing room to open their presents and to eat their lunch.

It was the first time that Matthew had been to the big house since his return from Lancashire a few days previously, and Mary endeavoured to stay close to Edith and Sybil, reasoning that she wouldn't have to pay too much attention to anyone else. Yet as soon as Matthew walked in, she forgot, and instead fought the urge to go to him, her eyes only leaving him when he looked over at her. But as the presents were passed around, Mary found herself at Matthew's side and she smiled warmly at him, the air prickling with tension as he poured her a cup of tea and they silently watched the rest of the family, wondering what their first words would be.

"I'm sorry I forgot your birthday." Matthew spoke after a moment, keeping his eyes on Violet as she unwrapped the present from his mother, before turning to look at Mary, who was also watching the two older women.

"Oh it's quite alright, I wouldn't expect…" She trailed off, unsure of what to say. Wouldn't expect him to what? To remember? To have gotten her a present? She took a sip of her tea and turned to look at him properly, her heart fluttering at his proximity, feeling the heat that was radiating from him. "We didn't do anything for it. Oh, before I forget, I got you something." She set her cup on the table and went to retrieve the present from her mother. Matthew took a step back, distancing himself from the rest of the family as she returned, carrying a small box on top of a larger flat present, smiling tremulously at him.

"It's not much," she handed over the slightly larger present, smiling as he turned it over in his hands.

"Well, I think it's a book," he grinned and tugged off the paper. "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland?"

Mary raised her eyebrows and smiled mischievously. "If you don't like it, you don't have to keep it."

Matthew nodded and flicked through the leather-bound volume, smiling when he came across the illustrations, "No, it's…very thoughtful of you. Thank you." He laid it carefully on the table and took the smaller present from her. It was a penknife that was engraved with 'M.C'.

"Mary, this is…it's…very kind of you. You really didn't have to…" He looked up and met her gaze, smiling broadly and noticing the faint pink that was now colouring her cheeks as she shrugged at him with a smile. He wanted to kiss her. Still. Always. The tension between them was still there, filling the air and making their hearts race, their skin almost tingling in the electric atmosphere. "I got you something as well," he said quietly as he slid the penknife into his pocket, his fingers brushing against the toy dog.

"Oh?" Mary's eyes widened in surprise, and she tried to concentrate on remembering how to breathe normally as he crossed the room to the small tree. She hadn't thought…hadn't expected… He bashfully handed her the two presents, aware that they were now being watched. Nothing too obvious, just a sideways glance every so often as they wondered what Matthew could have got for Mary. Only one pair of eyes watched the young couple intently, as they had done all morning.

Isobel had seen the shy smiles and lingering glances, how their expressions dropped a fraction when they looked away. She saw the way her son had handed over the gifts, smiling as Mary's hand reached and closed round his wrist for a moment as she thanked him for the book. She also saw how Mary quickly unfastened her necklace and replaced it with the one that Matthew had purchased two days earlier, his hands falling to his side as Mary completed the task without his assistance, before he decided to put her other necklace in the box as she started to look through the book.

Isobel smiled and sipped her tea as Matthew stood very close to Mary, reading over her shoulder, and as she watched them, she thought back to a small boy of eight, with wide blue eyes and thick golden hair that flopped over his forehead. He was shy but always so polite and very friendly once you got to know him. This boy had fallen in love with the vicar's daughter – pretty with unruly dark curls and large doe-like eyes (some things never changed), but shy too – and he had walked her home after Sunday school having given her his best marble. The short journey had been watched with fondness by the wives of the vicar and the doctor. Both women had watched as their children walked side by side, heads dropped as they stared at the ground in front of them, their faces and necks red as they had blushed furiously. The blonde boy and dark girl had reached the gate of the vicarage and stood awkwardly for a moment before he had quickly lifted her hand towards his face…but then dropped it, and hurried back to his mother's side, glancing at the girl and smiling shyly as they carried on towards their own home.

Sometimes, Isobel missed that little boy more than she ever thought she would. Even then, he was exactly like his father; patient, considerate, intelligent, always eager to please and never wanting to disappoint. At other times, she missed the tiny baby that had taken his time to make it into the world, not realising how much he was wanted. She didn't miss him as a young man quite as often. He had been angry and hurt, and shut himself off and was unkind without meaning to be, lashing out as if that would somehow bring his father back. On the day of the funeral, he had stormed out, leaving shocked mourners watching after him. She had later found him slumped on the floor of his father's office, his hands covering his face, and she did what she had always done and took him into her arms and whispered soothing words in his ear as he had cried and cried until he could cry no more. She had wondered then if he would ever recover from the loss.

A sharp bark from Isis dragged Isobel out of her reverie, and she glanced over at Matthew and Mary, her heart swelling as she saw Mary drop one of her hands to her side and Matthew's finger gently stroking over the back of her hand, before removing it after the briefest of moments, their attention never leaving the pages in front of them. She turned, then, and focussed her attention on Cora, who was talking about the ball in a few days' time.

* * *

_30__th__ December 1915_

The day of the ball came around quickly. Robert had decided that the servant's ball would still go ahead, but had brought it forward so that the officers could take part before they left in January and a new lot of patients were brought in. Mary and Matthew had spent a number of hours of every day together, going out for walks or for drives, but not really talking, the tension between them building as the light brushes of their hands and gentle – brief – intertwining of their fingers sent a current through them, charging the air around them until it was almost stifling.

He found her almost immediately, in conversation with her aunt and a man he didn't recognise, but who kept glancing at Mary in a way that made Matthew simmer with jealously, even as his own eyes glanced over her appreciatively, the deep red dress suiting her pale skin and dark hair, and noticing with a (triumphant) smile that she was wearing the necklace he'd bought her.

"There you are! I thought you'd decided not to come after all." Though Mary was smiling, her eyes betrayed her worry that he wouldn't have turned up, having had his orders to return to France the following day. As her eyes travelled over him, admiring his lean form in his mess kit, she noticed something. "Your moustache is gone!"

Matthew touched his finger to his top lip, and smiled, "Yes, the order to shave all facial hair came through this morning. It's quite strange; I'd grown rather used to it." They smiled and Mary turned back to her aunt.

"Aunt, you remember Matthew?"

"Of course," Rosamund smiled. A gentle cough reminded her of her guest. "This is Sir Richard Carlisle. He's in the newspaper business." She indicated to the man at her side who had watched the exchange between Lady Mary and the younger man with interest.

"This is my cousin, Captain Crawley." The pride in Mary's voice was unmistakable as the two men shook hands, quickly looking over the other, unconsciously sizing each other up.

"Is it wise, do you think, to be putting your life at risk when you're the heir to an earldom, Captain?" Matthew tilted his head slightly at the question, detecting the barest hint of a Scottish accent in the man's low voice.

"Lord Grantham has never had a problem with my decision to join the army. He fought himself, in the Boer War. Although, I might ask, when you appear to be physically capable, why you have not signed up, or are newspapers more important than doing your duty for King and country?"

"I am doing my duty for the country, Captain Crawley. Without my newspapers, how would we know what you're all facing over there?" They stared at each other for a moment, while Mary and Rosamund glanced at each other uncertainly. Breaking the tension, Sir Richard straightened and turned more fully to Mary. "Forgive me, Lady Rosamund. Perhaps, Lady Mary, would you do me the honour of the next dance?"

Mary's eyes widened and she looked at Matthew, whether out of habit or desire for him to ask her, she wasn't quite sure, but all he did was offer a small smile before excusing himself. Ignoring the crushing sensation of disappointment, she fixed her brightest smile to her face and allowed Sir Richard to lead her around the floor, her eyes constantly scanning the room for Matthew, who had apparently disappeared. The dance finished and Mary moved to her grandmother's side, watching as her sisters danced with Carson and Branson, smiling sadly to herself. The music changed and partners were swapped, but there was still no sign of Matthew.

He approached from the back of the hall, having needed some fresh air. Her head was tilted to the side and she was swaying slightly to the music, and he could imagine her lips curved into the faintest of smiles, her dark eyes taking in everything. He reached her side, his heart thudding and palms sweating. She turned her head to look at him and smiled before turning back.

"How about it?" She hesitated for a moment before replying, losing herself in the bright blue of his eyes.

"Alright." Smiling, she took his arm and he led them towards the centre of the floor. They moved into position with a practiced ease, though it was not really practiced; they had only danced together a handful of times, and as he started to move them round, they were both flooded with memories of dancing closer than was proper, of hands entwined as they hurried down a corridor, of a dark corner on a terrace and stolen kisses and caresses leaving them both wanting more.

Mary sighed as she felt his fingers flutter against her back, shifting the position of his hand as he pulled her closer. He was a good dancer – smooth and confident – and Mary was enjoying him leading her in the waltz, her heart racing and desire coursing through her at being so close to him.

"It's been a long time since we've done this," he murmured in her ear, his eyes shutting briefly as he savoured the feel of her against him, of the smell of her perfume, of her hand in his, of his hand on her back.

"Another life, it feels like," she replied just as quietly. He chuckled softly and she felt it vibrate through her. They drifted back into silence once more, more than happy being in each other's arms even with the air so tense that they feared it might splinter at any moment, both still lost in the memory of Sybil's ball.

"That was when I knew, you know," he said after a moment.

"Knew what?" Matthew didn't answer, but was grateful that she couldn't see his face. "Matthew?" She felt him exhale in a soft sigh, his breath tickling her ear.

"That's when I knew for certain that I didn't want to dance with anyone else again. And I haven't," he added as an afterthought. "Not that I've had much opportunity for it anyway."

The silence took over once more, overwhelming them. It was too much, not enough… They still hadn't talked properly, and it was all terribly confusing.

"I'm sorry." Mary spoke suddenly, squeezing her eyes shut and letting her fingers grip his shoulder a little tighter.

"Mary-"

"No. I am, because it's my fault. If I had just told you-"

"I know. I know," he interrupted gently. "But I don't know if…I would have been quite so forgiving then." Matthew swallowed thickly, knowing that he would not have been able to forgive her, but God – what it had taken for him to gain perspective. The dance ended and they slowly stepped apart, their hands still joined, holding the other's gaze before Matthew was swept away by Edith, and Mary retreated back to her grandmother's side, deep in thought as the two familiar blonde heads danced past her. She felt a pang of jealousy, a deep ache within her heart as she watched them, and suddenly the room was too warm, and Mary was too warm, and she was tired, so very tired of all of it. Shaking her head once, she slipped away quietly, heading to the library and through the open doors…

"There you are," Mary tilted her head as she heard the footsteps crunch in the snow and the low voice behind her. "I think there'll be a few thick heads in the morning." She smiled and made a small noise in agreement. He was at her side now and he quickly glanced at her as she stared out across the grounds, enveloped by darkness and blanketed by snow, her arms wrapped around herself as her dress offered no protection from the cold.

"No doubt they think it's worth it," she turned to look at him, and quickly looked away as their eyes briefly met.

"So, the newspaper chap," Matthew spoke after a moment. "He's interesting enough."

"Yes. And powerful. Rich, too, and getting richer." Matthew frowned at her nonchalance, his stomach churning with the sick realisation that maybe he had been right all along.

"Are you going to let him pursue you?" He tried not to sound bitter and he bit his lip before he could say anything else, something that he might later regret.

"Let him? I don't think he's the sort that waits idly for something to happen. He knows what he wants and goes after it. That's something to be admired, surely."

"Right."

Silence descended over them once more, that ever-present tension wrapping around them as they struggled to think of something else to say. Matthew's heart was pounding. This was it. If he didn't do or say _something_, that would be it forever.

"As to whether I actually _want_ him to pursue me, well that's a different matter," she spoke quietly, not daring to look, not yet. Matthew's breath caught in his throat. "My interest lies…elsewhere." It hung in the air between them, the meaning not lost on Matthew, and he suddenly hoped… God how he _wanted_ to be right.

"I see." He turned, then, to look at her properly, finding her facing him, her pale skin covered in goose-bumps as she shivered. "Oh Mary, you're freezing. Here," his previous thoughts vanished as he pulled off his jacket and slipped it around her shoulders, urging her to slide her arms into the sleeves. The jacket was warm, and smelt of Matthew; it was completely intoxicating, and she fought the urge to close her eyes as his hands rubbed gently up and down the tops of her arms. "I wouldn't want to be responsible for making you ill."

"Of course not, and I don't think Papa, or Isobel would forgive you!"

"No, I don't think they would," his hands stopped, resting on her shoulders, the material of his jacket strange against his own fingers. They hadn't taken their eyes off the other, hardly daring to breathe. He stepped closer, the crunching underfoot ringing through the still air, and licked his lips. _Now_.

"We should go inside, before they start to wonder…" Mary swallowed but made no effort to move.

"Yes, perhaps we should." Neither did Matthew. They stood, eyes locked together, her hands clutching at the lapels, his resting on her shoulders, both assaulted with memories of that other lifetime, their chests rising and falling as they took deep, almost shuddering, breaths. Their heads moved without them even giving conscious thought to it, tilting towards each other, their chests tight as everything balanced on a knife-edge, their eyes dark as they traced over the sharp angles and gentle curves of the other's face, pausing on the parted lips before looking back up... Matthew leaned again and they could feel the other's breath, and their eyes closed, and then…he lightly pulled her shoulders, pulling her towards him, then closed the distance between them and…

…Their lips met with a soft sigh, parting against the other's as her hands moved to his shoulders and his to her hips, sliding against the smooth material of her dress. They pulled apart, breathless and eyes shining, smiling broadly, before leaning in again. Matthew's arms wrapped fully around Mary's waist, while hers looped around his neck, her fingers playing with the edge of his collar and dipping into his hair as their heads tilted again, deepening the kiss. They both moaned quietly his tongue glanced against hers, and again, holding each other as closely as they could, not breaking apart as lips, teeth and tongue met over and over and over again… As hands clutched and grasped… As moans and sighs filled the air around them, the tension shattered as they poured every ounce of feeling into the slow, deep kiss... New, but also familiar sensations coursed through their veins, arousal burning them to their very core…

Eventually, reluctantly, they pulled apart, gasping for breath, their lips swollen and eyes sparkling. Matthew kissed Mary's forehead and pulled her to him, his hands stroking up and down her back underneath his jacket, the cold all but forgotten. Mary closed her eyes and settled herself against his chest, warm and content in his embrace. It was a while before either of them spoke, not wanting to spoil the moment with inane conversation.

"I think perhaps that we are a little more than just friends," Mary murmured against him, and Matthew pulled back, his hands taking hers, meeting her gaze with a beaming smile before leaning in to kiss her again, quickly this time as he was flooded with other memories from the last time they had danced and embraced and kissed under the stars.

"Mary," he licked his lips and looked up, momentarily stunned by the snow silently falling from above them. "I can't… I don't want to make a promise that I can't keep." He held her gaze, his thumbs rubbing over her knuckles, willing her to understand. Mary nodded slowly.

"I wouldn't…want you to," pulling her hand free she lifted it to his cheek, finally giving in to the urge that she had resisted for so long, letting her thumb rub over his top lip, smiling as he sighed and leaned in to her caress.

"But when I can," he whispered softly, her hand stilling, another silent understand passing between them as they leaned in to kiss once more, treasuring every moment while they still could…before they had to go back in and join reality. Before he had to leave again.

* * *

_Thank you for reading; I'm always incredibly touched to receive your comments!_


	8. Chapter 8

_Apologies for the delay but I hit a bit of writer's block, but then had a surge of inspiration all in the same day! Thank you for all of your lovely comments and continued support! Particular thanks to __Willa Dedalus__ for being wonderfully enthusiastic, and __Orangeshipper__ who has listened to me go on as I've tried to figure out a few things._

_So on that note, enjoy!_

* * *

Chapter 8

_18__th__ January 1916_

Wet. Cold. The air chilling them to their very core. Gasping breaths coming out in a puff of white. So very different from the snowy haven of Yorkshire. There, the snow was white; pure and untouched. Here, it was slush; brown and watery, freezing in icy puddles over the mud and blood and waste, settling only in the distant fields, as yet unspoiled by the war. At least the cold seemed to kill off some of the rats and get rid of some of the stench of rotting flesh and excrement; a small mercy for the men who took their comfort where, and how, they could. Thick grey clouds hung overhead, threatening them with snow or rain, blocking out the pale sunlight and making it seem like the dark of night never actually lifted.

It was eerily quiet in this part of the trench; in their own little bit of hell. Miles away, muted blasts could be heard as another battle raged on. Matthew trudged along slowly, for there was no other way to get around. Even though it was the middle of winter, and the ice was being crunched underfoot and churned to slush, the ground was still like treacle under their feet and under the battered planks of wood meant for walking on. His hands were clenched into fists and stuffed into his pockets, and he was guiltily grateful that he had the luxury of thick leather gloves, afforded by his rank. For the first time since he'd been fighting, he allowed himself to wallow in his memories, allowed them to intrude. Allowed her here. He couldn't stop himself. Thoughts of Mary warmed him and made him smile, and now, he couldn't bring himself to lock them – _her_ – away.

* * *

_He gripped her tighter, holding her as close to him as he could, moaning softly into her mouth as she writhed against him, her gloved fingers sliding into his hair, keeping his mouth to hers. Slowly, carefully, he started to move them until Mary felt the wall behind her. Trapped deliciously between that and Matthew, she sighed and arched against him, a fiery warmth spreading through her, through them both, as his hands roamed across her back and hips, never once breaking the kiss…until it became absolutely necessary for them to breathe. Resting his forehead against hers, Matthew closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and another, and then another as his hands settled on her waist, while Mary's hands came to rest on his chest, neither quite daring to believe that it was real._

"_It was never because I didn't…love you. It was always the other thing," she whispered after a long moment, looking up and meeting his eyes, her expression more open and honest than he'd ever seen it._

_He lifted his hands to cup her cheeks, marvelling at the smooth softness of her skin, and kissed her again, softly – chastely almost – before replying, swallowing thickly as he tried to find the right words, "I… That's… Thank you."_

* * *

"Would you like me to take your coat sir?" William's soft voice startled Matthew out of his reverie as he entered the dug-out, stooping to avoid banging his head.

"Oh yes, thank you Mason." Matthew smiled and waited until the he was left alone before sinking onto the chair at the small desk, rubbing his hands over his face, feeling both worried and relieved in equal measure. William reminded him of home – for it really was home, especially now – and it was comforting to have a familiar face around, and William had always been very pleasant to Matthew when he'd first arrived at Downton. But this was all tinged with the knowledge that William was an only child, that Robert had asked Matthew to keep an eye on him, and that Matthew now felt a duty of care to the other man, not much younger than himself. It was times like these that Matthew wished he had Mary's letters to read through, but he had taken them home and left them there, safe from what was going on here – as if by protecting the letters, he would somehow protect her – where the rain made ink run like blood, erasing the precious sentiments.

_Mary,_

_I'm sorry I've not written sooner. I hope that you've not been too worried, though I know you will be even if I tell you not to! We have snow, but I think I prefer the snow in Yorkshire. Clear nights after a fresh snowfall don't really happen over here. It's just as cold though, maybe colder, so I'm grateful for the extra socks that Mother made me bring back!_

_I'm sorry again about the day I left, but I hope you understand that I just…couldn't. There was no need to spoil the previous night. I hope everyone recovered from that. I know my mother enjoyed herself, strange as it was to have a ball with patients!_

_When I'm back next, there's somewhere I want to take you, if that's alright. I won't say anything else, but it will give me something to look forward to._

_Do take care of yourself, my dear, and I will do my best to do the same._

"_And fare-thee-well, my only Love! And fare-thee-well, a while!"_

_Matthew._

* * *

_27__th__ January 1916_

It was quiet. There was no sound but that of hooves gently crunching through the snow, and the occasional sharp cry from a bird overhead. The sun was shining, low in the sky, casting a pale yellow glow across the frozen white landscape, the snow and ice sparkling as the light hit it. Mary smiled and took several deep breaths, the fresh clean air filling her lungs and turning her cheeks pink, clicking her tongue to urge Diamond forwards as she spotted the fence.

"Come on Diamond, you can do it boy!" She murmured, leaning in to the horse as he cleared the fence. "Well done!" She patted the sleek black neck and lightly tugged on the reins to slow the horse, feeling exhilarated and tired in the best possible way as they slowly made their way back to the stables, both perfectly content as the horse seemed to sense the happy mood of his rider.

"How was he Milady?" The groom appeared and held out his hand to help Mary off the horse.

"Oh fine, but I think an extra blanket for him tonight, thank you." He nodded and smiled as Mary pulled an apple from her pocket and fed to it the horse, stroking his neck as the stable boy worked around them, removing the tack, and smiling to herself as she thought of the envelope she had received earlier that morning, that was safely tucked away in her pocket.

Mary made her way back to the house, to the hot bath that was waiting for her, and the fresh sheets of paper ready to be stained with her thoughts, letting her mind wander as Anna worked around her.

* * *

"_Mary?" Matthew shifted his lips to her cheek and started to kiss towards her ear. "I think we should go inside. I can't feel my toes." She giggled softly and pressed her lips to his cold cheek before tugging at his hands and pulling him back into the library, straight towards the fire to dry off and warm up a little, rubbing her gloved hands together as the fire warmed her instantly. Mary relinquished the jacket and watched as he pulled it on and smoothed down his sleeves, brushing off the snow. He wouldn't have to wear that if he wasn't at war, she suddenly thought to herself, and it made her heart ache. Sensing her gaze, he turned, smiling sadly as he noticed that she was staring at the red jacket._

"_Mary?" She looked up, surprised to see him watching her so intently._

"_Hmm?"_

"_Tomorrow, I don't want you to come and see me off." He reached for her hand, unconsciously rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. She frowned, smarting at the rejection. "Not because I don't want you to be there, but because now, for the first time, I…would much rather be here."_

_He hoped she'd understand. He'd seen her face crumple too many times as he was leaving when they were only friends. He didn't know if he'd be able to leave at all if he saw her the following morning after…everything. They stared at each other for a moment, the air between them growing heavy once more, until she gave him the smallest nod in acceptance._

"_Well, now you have something to come back to." She smiled faintly and leaned in to kiss him once more, both leaping apart as they heard footsteps and the door open._

* * *

"Will that be all Milady?"

"Yes, thank you Anna." The maid bobbed her head and left Mary alone. She pulled out the letter and read it again, though she really didn't need to…his words, his neat script were already imprinted in her mind, and if she closed her eyes she could almost hear him talking to her, could feel his fingers curled around hers, his lips against her skin.

_Matthew,_

_I'm sorry that the snow is proving such a disappointment over there! Perhaps you'll have to wait a while to build that snowman. We still have snow. It's beautiful, and Diamond loves being outside in it. We've been out three times already this week. I really should take you riding when you're next back._

_We've had a new lot of patients at the house. It's strange; it doesn't feel like my home anymore. I know we have our own rooms, and they haven't taken over everything, but I can't just go and sit in the library to read as I used to do._

_I'm intrigued about where you want to take me. Nowhere too dangerous I hope! I shall look forward to it in any case._

_Please don't tell me not to worry. It's a waste of time, space and ink, and also completely futile._

_Burns, though Matthew? You really have taken to poetry!_

"_Love is not love, which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove."_

_Mary._

* * *

_8__th__ February 1916_

_Mary,_

_I'm glad to hear you're still enjoying the cold weather. I know that you prefer winter to summer. It's still cold here, and I actually miss my moustache. At least that kept my top lip warm! As for taking me out for a ride…well, we'll have to see about that. You know what happened the last time I was on a horse, and that one wasn't even moving!_

_I don't want to raise your hopes too much about the day out, my dear. It's not terribly exciting! Although, a trip to Whitby is now out of the question, for a while at least._

_Next time you write, tell me something that you've not told me before. I fear I am need of the distraction. It's…strange here, at the moment. It's not busy, but it's not quiet either. We're in a perpetual state of…waiting._

_I may have had a read through of that book of Burns' poetry... You won't throw me off with Shakespeare though!_

"_Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate."_

_Matthew._

* * *

_19__th__ February 1916_

_Matthew,_

_The snow has gone, replaced by the rain, which you know I can't stand, because it means I can't take Diamond out. I'm still helping with some of the recreational activities for the officers though, so that occupies my time. Edith wants us to put on a concert in a few weeks' time. She wants us to sing together, but I'm not so sure._

_The only reason you fell off is because you clearly weren't doing it right. I would show you how to ride properly, and we would spend as long as possible doing it until I was satisfied that you wouldn't injure yourself!_

_Papa told us about Whitby. I think Mama fears that it is a little too close to us now, but there's nothing we can do about it. I shall look forward to our day out wherever you want to take me though._

_I'm sorry you need a distraction, but I'm happy to help, if I can. As for something I've not told you before… Well, I've had Diamond since I was seventeen, which seems like an awfully long time ago, and I can't imagine riding another horse now. The horse I rode when I was learning was called Pippin. She was a grey mare, and I had to share her with Edith, and then later Sybil._

_So you're familiar with the Bard? Heavens Matthew, you really __**are**__ full of surprises! I wonder…_

"_How do I love thee? Let me count the ways."_

_Mary._

* * *

_2__nd__ March 1916_

_Mary,_

_Finally, we are free from snow, and rain, and spring is starting to show. Not near here, but in the distance you can just about see the green on the trees. Though, I'm not sure whether it's worse being here in the warm or cold weather. I suppose both seasons have their merits and faults. At least my feet are a bit drier now in any case!_

_I'm sure, my darling, that you have a wonderful singing voice. I'd like to hear it. Perhaps when I'm back…? I might even be inclined to go near a horse again, seeing as you're so enthusiastic about me learning to do it properly!_

_Of course I'm familiar with Shakespeare. Although I must confess that I always preferred the comedy plays to the tragedies. I had to ask, but I'm now a little familiar with Elizabeth Barrett Browning._

"_As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, so deep in love am I; and I will love thee still, my dear, till a' the seas gang dry."_

_Matthew._

* * *

_14__th__ March 1916_

_Matthew,_

_I'm glad the weather is improving. I think I'd rather you were in warmer weather. At least I don't have to worry about you getting frostbite now! Perhaps, if there's no one else around, I might sing you something. Only perhaps, though; I make no promises!_

_I suppose that is one redeeming feature of having a governess. She made us study the complete works of Shakespeare, and Austen too, but I've never had much patience for her. What was it like to go to school, and university? You see darling, I'm incredibly envious that you got to have a proper education._

_I have something else to tell you…I've had dinner with Isobel. I hope you don't mind. She invited me a few days ago. Mrs Patmore seemed to take it as a personal affront to her cooking that I went, but…I think that Isobel enjoyed the company. After all, she doesn't dine with us all of the time. It was different from taking tea with her. You needn't worry though; she didn't tell me any more embarrassing tales from your youth!_

"_Say over again, and yet once over again, that thou dost love me."_

_Mary._

* * *

_31__st__ March 1916_

_Mary,_

_I will endeavour to get you alone then, if there is the slightest chance that you might sing for me! Have you had the concert, by the way? How was it?_

_I enjoyed school. I liked learning. I always have; though I was more of a history student than a literature one! University was a little different…much larger for a start, and a lot more to learn, but I liked it. Truthfully, I almost didn't go. It was the year that my father died, and I felt like I shouldn't go, but…well, you know how persuasive my mother can be. I've sometimes wondered if things would have been different had I had siblings, but I suppose I'll never know, and it doesn't do to dwell on the past. So you see, my darling, I am jealous of you for having sisters!_

_Of course I don't mind my dear. I'm glad that you're spending time together. I know you don't like me to mention it, but if something should happen, I'm glad she won't be alone. And I can already see you rolling your eyes at this and telling me not to be silly because nothing will happen. Forgive me, I know I don't sound particularly cheerful, but it's difficult sometimes._

_I look forward to hearing from you, my darling. Your letters are a great comfort to me._

"_But to see her was to love her; love but her, and love for ever."_

_Matthew._

* * *

_8__th__ April 1916_

Mary knocked on the front door and stepped back, smiling graciously as Molesley appeared and showed her in, taking her coat.

"Mrs Crawley is just in the sitting room. Dinner won't be too long, Milady."

"Thank you Molesley." She followed him through the house, trying not to let those too familiar thoughts surface; the ones that appeared every time she visited Crawley House. What if, what if, what if… She schooled her expression as she entered the room to greet Isobel, smiling warmly at the older woman as she sat down.

"Have you heard from him?" Isobel perched on the seat, smiling as Mary's gaze flicked between her and the photograph above the fireplace.

"Oh, yes. A letter came a few days ago," she smiled briefly at the memory of it sitting in her drawer, as yet unanswered.

"How did he sound?" Mary frowned at Isobel's question, hearing the worry in her voice. Whatever Matthew was telling Mary was clearly not what he was telling Isobel.

"He sounded…melancholy. He mentioned-" Mary stopped and looked carefully at Isobel, wondering whether to divulge the contents of the letter before looking back at the picture. "He mentioned Doctor Crawley…and that he would have liked to have a sibling." Mary heard Isobel's sharp intake of breath.

"I see." She stood quickly and moved to the window, leaving Mary watching her in wide-eyed confusion.

"Isobel, are you alright?" When she received no answer, Mary stood and made to follow, but Isobel turned suddenly, her eyes glassy and red as they met Mary's.

"He has a sibling you know. A sister," Isobel spoke in that same matter-of-fact tone that she used with her patients.

"But he said… He's never-"

"He wouldn't. He doesn't…know. A few years before Matthew was born, I fell pregnant, but…she was a stillborn." Mary gasped and her hand covered her mouth, her heart aching for the woman in front of her, for the man in France, for the man she would never know. "She'd have been thirty-four this year. I didn't think…after that… But then Reg and I… I was so worried. He took so long to arrive that I thought it had happened again, that I wasn't meant to be a mother."

"Oh Isobel, I'm so dreadfully sorry." Mary felt tears prickle in the back of her eyes, and she reached out to clasp the older woman's arm, filled with a new understanding and respect for her.

"Thank you my dear. Please don't tell him though. It's my burden." Mary nodded and quickly pressed her gloved fingers to her eyes, smiling and blinking back the tears. Before they could speak again, the door opened and Molesley informed them that dinner was ready.

* * *

_10__th__ April 1916_

_Matthew,_

_The concert was alright. There were magic tricks and singing, including myself and Edith. Sybil managed to escape that fate, somehow… In fact, it went down so well that Papa wants to make it a regular event, much to Granny's disdain of course!_

_I'd like to hear more about your time at university. Why did you decide to go into the law and not medicine?_

_I am truly sorry about your father. And I'm sure you would have made a wonderful brother, if you'd ever had a brother or sister. _

_I think that…you will never know if you're right or not, but you really do need to stop talking about what may or may not happen. You should have more faith! Dinner with your mother has become a regular engagement though. I might even be so bold as to say that Mrs Bird's cooking rivals that of Mrs Patmore's! But if you tell anyone I said that, I will deny all knowledge!_

_Your letters are a comfort to me, too. If you're writing to me, I at least know that you're safe enough._

"_And the sunlight clasps the earth, and the moonbeams kiss the sea – what are all these kissings worth, if thou kiss not me?"_

_Mary._

* * *

_27__th__ April 1916_

_Mary,_

_I apologise for not writing sooner, but we are busy again. Really, this is going to be the last time that I can write to you for a while. My unit is being moved, and you know I can't tell you where or why, but Mary, darling, I hope that you can forgive me. You must know how sorry I am for this, but you should have faith in your own belief. You must know that I'd rather be there than here. I will be alright, and I promise I will write as soon as I can._

"_I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest."_

_Matthew._

* * *

_1__st__ July 1916_

He hadn't written. He'd told her he couldn't but it didn't stop the surge of hope in her breast when Carson brought in the morning post. She ignored the crushing disappointment when there was nothing, instead choosing to read the letters he had already sent, and thinking back to a snowy night and his arms holding her and his lips brushing against hers.

The weeks had passed slowly. Spring became summer; flowers of all colours sprang from the ground and the trees, new lambs leapt around the fields, and the days started to get longer. It could have been England or France, save for what was happening in some of the fields. Instead of lambs, there were shells of trees. Instead of luscious green grass, the ground was battered and churned and unrecognisable: a dead, barren wasteland, broken with barbed wire and bodies and empty shells.

Matthew trembled as he loaded his pistol. This was it. It had been a week of relentless shelling and attacks, and now the German line was theirs to take. Surely, once this was done – once this day was over – then the rest would surrender, and it would be over. It had to be. It just had to be.

"What do you think Mason? Do you think we've got them all?" He met the gaze of his servant who smiled warmly, reassuringly, at him.

"I 'ope so sir. I don't think there'll be much left of 'em after the shelling."

"Are you ready Mason?"

"As I'll ever be, sir." Matthew nodded and pulled on his helmet as they stepped outside, the eerie silence still lingering over the trenches. They walked along the line of soldiers, nodding as they straightened up, straightened their weapons. Matthew muttered quick reassurances to some of the men as he passed them, clapping a hand to their shoulder and offering a small smile and nod.

He took a deep breath and looked up and down the line, pulling out his pocket watch and whistle, his hand briefly grasping the toy before letting it go and patting his pocket.

"Right men, this is it. We've given them all we've got. There shouldn't be any of the bastards left, but you know what to do if there are!" He checked the time, his stomach churning. They had seconds… "Ready!" The men readied themselves by the ladders, the first few rungs already climbed. He placed the whistle between his lips and tried not to think of Mary and her kisses. Down the line he heard the first whistle, inhaling deeply through his nose, he closed his eyes and blew, the sound piercing the still air, covered by the steady thump of footsteps moving along and up the ladders…

* * *

_Duh duh duuuh! Yeah…sorry (except I'm not really…) :D_

_A/n: Poems, in order of appearance: My Luve is Like a Red Red Rose – Robert Burns, Sonnet 116 – William Shakespeare, Sonnet 18 – William Shakespeare, Sonnet 43 – Elizabeth Barrett Browning, My Luve is Like a Red Red Rose – Robert Burns, Sonnet 21 – Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Ae Fond Kiss – Robert Burns, Love's Philosophy – Percy Bysshe Shelley, Much Ado About Nothing, 4.1 (Beatrice) – William Shakespeare._

_Thanks for reading. As always, I'm incredibly touched to hear your thoughts!_


	9. Chapter 9

_Hello! Thank you for your continued support and kind words. I really do appreciate it so much! Also, apologies for the delay, but this chapter was a tricky one. I had a beginning and an ending written, and I knew exactly what was going to happen in the middle, it was just a bit difficult connecting it all together!_

_Anyway…_

…_Enjoy!_

* * *

Chapter 9

_13__th__ September 1916_

Mary sighed as she walked away from the porter, fixing her gaze on something in the distance. It had been a long draining day, and all she wanted was to go home, but now there was a slight delay even though – _apparently – _her train wouldn't be too much longer.

It had also been five long months without a single letter or telegram. Five months of nothing. She didn't know where he was, how he was…if he was even still alive. And it hurt. After everything; after having him back in her life, after receiving his letters and treasuring them, after a promise…she didn't know if she'd ever see him again. Lost in her thoughts as she was, she didn't hear the slow steady thumping of lots of feet trudging through the station, until a sea of dirty khaki filled her vision.

She looked around, blinking in surprise as at least a hundred soldiers appeared as if from nowhere; muddy and bloody and weary. Her heart pounded. Soldiers. British soldiers. Fresh from France, by the looks of it. That could mean… He could be… She didn't dare dwell on her thoughts for too long, didn't dare to raise her hopes as her eyes frantically scanned over the sudden crowd. The relative quiet of King's Cross was broken by loud chatter and a few voices cheerfully singing 'It's a Long Way to Tipperary', and the constant thudding of heavy feet pounding against the floor. She looked at every face that walked past her, not seeing him as she clutched at her little bag, filled with…terror, excitement, nerves…she wasn't sure. The men were dispersing, making their way to the platforms that would take them home, and a lead weight settled in her chest as she blinked back the tears that had suddenly appeared in her eyes. He wasn't here. He was probably still over there. He might even be… She swallowed and took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment…

Someone jostled her, and as she stumbled, another hand closed around her elbow to steady her. She turned to thank the rescuer, her heart stopping this time as she met a familiar smile and an even more familiar pair of bright blue eyes.

"Hello," his voice was hoarse, and he was caked in mud from head to toe, his battered helmet perched at an angle on his head, still holding her elbow with a gloved hand...even like this, he still looked so very, very handsome. They stared at each other for a moment, everything else fading into the background. He was here, and alive, and smiling at her, and _here_.

"Matthew!" Mary spoke eventually, her voice barely louder than a whisper as her gaze raked over him and her hand reached for his arm, needing to touch him to make sure that she wasn't dreaming, the relief at seeing him flooding her and forcing out every other thought and feeling. Dropping his bag to the floor, Matthew pulled her into his arms and kissed her, sighing as their mouths met and he tasted her, felt the wonderful pressure of her lips against his. It took less than a second for Mary to respond, clutching at the lapels on his coat as she arched against him, ignoring the whistles and comments from the few soldiers that were still walking past. He smelt of damp and earth, and of gunpowder and smoke, and yet underneath it all he was still Matthew. He held her close, coaxing her lips apart with his and clutching at her back, but even then a detached part of his mind was aware that he was probably covering her in mud. The thought stopped him. It was one thing to think of her over there, but he couldn't bring _there_ back, not here. Not to her. He broke the kiss and took a step back, keeping his hands on her waist.

"Mary," he let his eyes drift over her face, filling with a tenderness he hadn't thought he'd ever feel again. She was more beautiful than he remembered, but she looked tired, and sad, even though her cheeks were pink and her lips were red and swollen.

"Why didn't you write?" She pulled herself out his arms, overwhelmed and annoyed; a thousand conflicting thoughts racing through her mind.

"I couldn't, and we didn't know that we were coming home until a couple of days ago," he smiled but it didn't reach his eyes, and it was then that she noticed William stood near to them, smiling briefly at Mary when she looked over. Before anything else could be said, the north-bound train arrived, and as they boarded it simply didn't occur to Matthew to ask why Mary had been in London when she hadn't known he was due back; he was just so happy to see her after…_after_. Taking the seat next to her on the train, he curled his fingers around hers and let his eyes drift to the window, watching the countryside go past in a blur of green as his mind wandered, grateful – God, so grateful – that he was even there at all.

* * *

_15__th__ September 1916_

"Lady Mary will be with you shortly, Captain Crawley." The butler smiled as he showed Matthew into the library.

"Thank you Carson," Matthew nodded and suppressed a yawn, unable to rid himself of the tiredness that settled itself in his bones, in every muscle, that ached as he moved. He sank onto the settee and rubbed his face with his hands, feeling himself start to drift towards sleep as he was warmed by the fire…

"You look a bit better than you did on Wednesday," he shot up as he heard Mary's voice, his body protesting at the quick movement. She smiled at him and clasped her hands together, head tilted to one side. "Are you ready to go?"

They barely spoke as Branson drove them to the station, or when Matthew purchased their tickets, and not even after they had boarded the train. Mary could sense that something was on his mind but didn't want to bring it up until he did. She had an idea about what it might be; she knew they were going to Manchester, knew what that meant for Matthew, but he wasn't giving anything away, instead he was just catching her eye and smiling weakly at her every so often.

"So, where are we going then?" Mary smiled as they left the station, looking round at the unfamiliar city on front of her, before turning to Matthew.

"I want to take you…to where my father is buried," his heart clenched as he said the strange sentence, the first time he'd ever had to explain it to someone. Mary nodded and leaned in to kiss his cheek, taking his arm as they strolled through the streets of Manchester in the September sunshine. They reached a church and he held open the wrought-iron gate for Mary, following slowly behind her.

Death. So much death. It was everywhere, invading every part of his life. Even now, when his purpose had been to show her where a dead man lay in the quiet of a cemetery, with only slabs of stone to see, he couldn't shake the images of blood-soaked uniforms, of lifeless eyes and mouths lolling open. He couldn't get rid of the smell of rotting flesh; he was sure he smelt of it, even after the scalding baths he'd taken since arriving home. He couldn't rid himself of the weight of a body slumped over his shoulder. He stopped without thinking about it; a memorised route. Left side, front row, eleven along.

"It's this one." Mary turned to see where he'd stopped, his cap clutched in his hands and his head bowed. They stood in silence as she read the headstone in front of them, trying to associate the words that were etched into the stone with the man she had seen in Isobel's treasured photographs. Mary wondered at how she could possibly comfort Matthew, whose eyes were red and whose face was creased in pain. She reached for his hand and squeezed it, opening her mouth to speak but finding herself being interrupted and her fingers released from his.

"Do you know, I think I'd quite like to get something to eat." He turned and strode off before Mary had a chance to react, watching after him for a moment before following, and taking his arm again as she reached his side. They walked to a nearby teashop, smiling as they were seated and handed menus. Both decided on the soup, and they smiled gratefully at the young waitress as she took their order.

"I'm so dreadfully sorry Matthew," Mary spoke first, breaking what seemed like an endless silence. He nodded in acknowledgement, tapping his fingers restlessly against the table. Though he was no longer certain whether it was habit, or because he felt like he was constantly shaking. "What…happened? Isobel's never said."

He rolled his eyes and sighed. "No, I… I didn't think she would. He was ill. He'd been ill for a long time, and one day he just wasn't there anymore." The words came out far more bitterly than he'd intended them to, but even now, after more than a decade, he still couldn't let go of the one thing that had marred his final days with his father. His eyes filled with tears as he met Mary's gaze; dark, warm, trusting. Loving. "You know that it was just before I went to university." Mary nodded, and he paused as the food arrived, waiting until the waitress left before speaking again. "I'd been visiting a school-friend, and came home earlier than I'd been expected to…and that's when I found out."

* * *

_Matthew closed the door behind him, taking off his coat and leaving his case next to the side-table. "Hello? Mother? Father?" Confused when he didn't receive a response, he made his way to the sitting room anyway, thinking that perhaps they were in there._

"_Matthew my boy, what are you doing here?" His grandfather was sat in the armchair, his pipe in one hand, his newspaper resting on his lap, his glasses low on his nose. Matthew couldn't remember a time when he'd not seen his grandfather sat like that._

"_Oh, hello. I took an earlier train so that I could go to the library." Matthew stood awkwardly in the doorway, his hands behind his back, his palms sweating. Even now, there was something about the old man that terrified him._

"_The library eh? So you're still set on this infernal law business then, are you?"_

"_Yes sir." Matthew felt his cheeks flame. He hated arguing, hated conflict of any sort, and he didn't want the weight of his grandfather's disappointed stare on him again. "I…I find it interesting."_

"_So medicine is dull, is that what you're saying?" Tears prickled in the young man's eyes at the implied accusation that he didn't think being a doctor was a good enough profession._

"_No sir, not at all."_

"_Matthew! You're back!" Isobel entered the room, her eyes wide in shock as she saw her son. He nodded, still reeling from conversation with his grandfather, watching as his mother glanced at her father._

"_I took an earlier train. Is Papa here? I noticed his hat on the stand…" There was that look again…and suddenly everything made sense._

"_My dear, you mustn't-" Isobel's plea was ignored as Matthew flew past her and up the stairs to his parent's room, stopping dead as he pushed open the door and saw his father – his tall, strong, brilliant father – propped up against pillows, looking weak and frail, his face lighting up at the sight of his son, his breathing laboured as he tried to sit up straighter, the dark circles under his eyes obvious even in the low light._

"_Matthew, my lad. You're back early. How was your trip?" Even his voice sounded fragile, Matthew thought as he stepped towards the bed, his eyes filling with tears as his fingers twitched restlessly, wondering why he hadn't realised that something was terribly wrong when his father had first started to feel under the weather a few months ago. At first it was a common cold, nothing serious, probably from one of the patients. Then there was the vomiting, but there was a lot of it about at that time of year. Tiredness, headaches, dizziness… All the signs were there, and he should have known. His grandfather was right – he was a disappointment for not going into medicine. Perhaps he could have done something... Matthew's breath caught as he lost himself in his thoughts._

_Reginald observed his son as he approached. He knew him well. He'd never been good at hiding his feelings; his eyes always giving him away first, and he could hazard a guess as to where the young man's thoughts were leading him. "Come and sit down, and tell me about your trip," he indicated the end of the bed and Matthew swallowed and nodded, gingerly perching himself on the edge._

_The doctor watched as his son stared at the blanket in front of him, his mouth opening and closing as his thoughts waged a war inside his head, hands clasped so tightly that his knuckles were white. Reginald knew that he had to let Matthew, his dear boy, speak first. But he didn't speak. Couldn't. Instead he reached for his father's hand and squeezed it gently, expressing himself far more eloquently than words ever could._

* * *

"Two slices of fruit cake please." The sound of Mary's voice startled Matthew from his thoughts, and he blinked as he turned from the window to look at her.

"I thought that you might actually eat some cake," she teased gently, even though her eyes were filled with worry. Matthew looked down and saw that the soup bowls had been cleared, but he didn't remember eating any.

"Well, fruit cake is my favourite," he tried to smile but it didn't meet his eyes and faltered too quickly and an awkward silence settled over them, which Mary tried to ignore by turning her own attention to the window. The cake arrived, with more tea, and Mary smiled when she saw Matthew consume both with more enthusiasm than he'd displayed all day. They settled the bill and Matthew asked her if she'd like to go for a walk.

They strolled, arm in arm, through a pretty park that was close to the church they had visited earlier that day, eventually sitting down on a secluded bench that overlooked the lake. Matthew unfastened his belts and jacket, but didn't remove them (propriety wasn't completely forgotten), and stretched himself out on the bench, resting his head on Mary's lap.

"Mary, would you read to me?" He looked up at her, pulling a book out of his pocket and offering it to her.

"Of course," she smiled as she took it from him. "This one? Really?" He chuckled and closed his eyes, weariness still pervading every fibre of his being, even as he enjoyed her soft voice washing over him, her very presence a soothing balm for his soul. "Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading…"

As she read, Mary's free hand smoothed over his hair, surprised at its softness. After two chapters his breathing had changed, deepened, and Mary lowered the book. For the first time since he'd surprised her two days previously, she looked at him properly, her dark eyes travelling over him slowly. His mouth was open, and he was lost in a deep sleep. He was pale with dark shadows under his eyes, and his face looked thinner than it had last time she'd seen him. All of him seemed thinner than last time. Exhausted, and not eating properly. Her eyes pricked with tears and her heart ached as she thought about the horrors he must have faced. She'd read about the offensive in the newspaper. Had he been there? Had he been a part of it?

She lightly touched her hand to his forehead and pushed back the hair that had flopped forwards, smiling as he stirred slightly, letting her fingers trail to his shoulder, daringly letting them slip underneath his jacket. Relaxed in sleep as he was, he looked almost boyish, and it created an altogether new ache in her chest. And even though there was a slight chill in the air, Mary felt warm and safe, and wondered what it would be like to lie curled together, limbs tangled together… But of course that was not a productive train of thought, nor was dwelling on everything else that had happened that week.

Mary didn't know how long they stayed like that, suspended in time as they were with no war, no Downton, no…anything to distract or interrupt them, the park unusually quiet for such a busy city. She flexed her fingers against his shoulder and felt something…warm and sticky. Lifting her hand, she saw that it was blood. She gasped, her eyes wide in horror.

"Matthew, Matthew, wake up," she gently shook him and he stirred, slowly waking with a smile as he recognised her voice. Sitting up, he felt a shooting pain in his shoulder. He pressed his hand to it and stood awkwardly, moving away from Mary. She followed, their things forgotten on the bench. "Matthew, what is it?"

"It's nothing." He pressed his hand to it, hoping that it hadn't been bleeding for long. Her hand closed around his arm and he stopped, slowing turning to face her.

"Matthew it's not nothing. You're bleeding." The panic in her voice was clear. "You're…hurt."

Her hands pulled at his; pulled them away from his shoulder, before pushing his jacket away, his shirt already bearing a dark stain. She moved her fingers to his buttons but his hand closed around her wrist.

"Mary, no. You mustn't. It's bandaged-"

"Not well," she bit back. "What happened?" He stared at her. It was the one thing he really hadn't wanted to tell her. He had sworn Molesley to secrecy, not to tell his mother or Mary, or anyone. Licking his lips and swallowing thickly, he told her about the blast and the shrapnel, about the near-miss with a bayonet, about the two weeks of leave because of 'ill health'. He didn't tell her about the gas, about the German he had shot at point blank range to save a boy of sixteen, about losing most of his men on that first awful day – their bodies crumpling to the ground as they were filled with bullets as they had bravely tried to cross the wasteland.

Mary listened and tried not to react, tried not to interrupt, and when he had finished, she offered him her handkerchief to press to his wound and suggested that they visit a doctor before heading home.

* * *

_17__th__ September 1916_

Matthew stared at the door long after the women had left them, his fingers tapping against the glass of port, lost in his own thoughts.

"Matthew?" The younger man looked round and met the Earl's kindly gaze. "If you want my permission, my dear boy, you only need to ask." Matthew's eyes widened and he blinked rapidly, Robert's meaning immediately obvious.

"I… I… Well, that is to say that… Mary and I haven't… We've not… We aren't…" he stuttered and stammered, a deep blush colouring his cheeks. Robert smiled, recognising his discomfort.

"Forgive me, I just thought…with the war… Never mind." He smiled again at Matthew, who returned it, his mind suddenly racing, both finishing their port in silence.

* * *

_19__th__ September 1916_

Mary looked up as the door opened, her heart sinking as only her father entered, though he immediately crossed the room to her side.

"Matthew wants to see you in the library," he said quietly, watching her expression closely.

"Oh. Did he say what it was about?"

"No. I told him I'd send you through." Mary nodded and excused herself, feeling her father's gaze on her back as she closed the door.

Matthew was just throwing back the dregs of a brandy as Mary entered. Her eyes widened for a moment, watching him as he set the tumbler back down before turning to face her properly.

"Papa said you wanted to talk to me. I'm afraid it must be something terribly serious for it to be so secretive," she smiled, hoping he'd return it at her joke, but it faltered when he didn't react, his face set in a frown, anguish etched across his brow. "Matthew?" She walked towards him and he reached for her, glancing over her appreciatively for a brief moment.

"My darling," he pressed his lips to the back of her hand, glad that she hadn't yet replaced her gloves, momentarily distracted the smoothness of her skin. "Can we sit down?" Mary nodded and allowed him to lead her to the settee before settling himself at her side, both turning to face each other, his eyes never leaving hers as he threaded their fingers together. They sat in silence for a moment, and Mary could tell that he was struggling to find the words for whatever it was that he wanted to tell her.

"Mary," he swallowed and licked his lips. He couldn't put it off any longer. "I've got to go back."

"I know, but not until next week," she smiled and squeezed his hand, her heart thudding as he slowly shook his head, his stomach churning with nerves, while Mary's was filled with a sort of sick anticipation. "What is it?"

"No. I'm leaving…in the morning." She stared at him, her mind assaulted by a barrage of thoughts until she was unable to take it anymore and wrenched her hand from him, moving to stand in front of the fireplace with her back to him.

"But your shoulder-"

"They need me, and Doctor Clarkson said it's healing well now."

"I see. Perhaps you'd have been better not to tell me at all if you're only here for a few more hours," she called over her shoulder as tears pricked in her eyes, and she took several deep breaths to try and calm her racing heart. But if he wasn't here, then that would mean…

"Mary, you know it's not like that. I've got to follow orders, and If I refuse to go back, I'll be arrested and shot for cowardice," he moved behind her, wanting to reach for her but resisting, sensing that his touch would be unwelcome at that moment, even as he heard her sharp intake of breath at his blunt phrasing. "I only received the telegram this afternoon, but I didn't want to tell you before dinner and ruin the evening."

"It's a little late for that don't you think?" She bit back sharply, regretting it instantly as she kept her eyes fixed on the fire. He gave in then, and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face against the back of her neck, inhaling deeply, memorising the feel of her against him, the scent of her perfume, of her hands moving to clutch at his arms. Pressing a soft kiss to her neck, he turned her round to face him, keeping her in his arms.

"There was something else," he kissed her before she could respond with some cutting reply, releasing her from his arms and dropping to his knees in front of her as he reached into his pocket for something. Mary's heart started to thud again, flooding with a different sort of anticipation as she closed her eyes for a moment. He reached for her hand and she opened them, meeting his gaze, bright even in the low light of the library. He was smiling nervously, and it occurred to Mary that he might just…

"Lady Mary Crawley," he paused and took a deep breath; he'd gone over and over this in his mind. He knew exactly what to say, and yet now, he couldn't find the words. All of Mary's awareness was of her hand in his, of the roaring in her ears and the dryness in her mouth. He really was doing this... "Will you…marry me?"

Everything stopped as the words left his mouth. He didn't think she'd refuse this time, hoped that she wouldn't. He knew that she loved him, but until she said the word he was still filled with a slight panic that she would turn him down…

"Yes!" It came out in a breathless rush and beaming smile, and he grinned in return, sliding the ring onto her finger before standing and pulling her into a deep kiss, his arms wrapping securely round her waist.

"Oh, darling, but…you said-" Mary pulled away, frowning, searching his eyes, as her fingers tapped restlessly against his good shoulder.

"I know, but sometimes…I'm a fool," he smiled and kissed her again, pushing away the thoughts that had made the decision for him, ignoring them. Now was not the time for them to intrude.

"I suppose that we shall have to go and tell everyone else now," she murmured against his lips, feeling them curve into a smile.

"Well, your father already knows. And so does my mother." Mary leaned back in his arms, her eyebrows raised in a question. "I had to ask her for the ring. It was my grandmother's," he smiled bashfully and ducked his head, leaning in to kiss her cheek, before pulling back and taking her hand in his, lifting it to look at the ring; a gold band, with seven tiny diamonds set in the shape of a flower on it, the delicate jewels shining in the low light.

"It's beautiful," she murmured. "Thank you." She buried her face against his neck, perfectly content in his embrace.

"I don't want to go," he said suddenly, repeating his words from months ago, murmuring them against her hair. She sighed and looked up, her hands caressing his cheeks, eyes locked together.

"Just…come back, to me. For me. And I will love thee still, my dear."

And not knowing what else to say or do, she kissed him. Now, they had this, and she was certain that almost anything could be bearable, even if he wasn't by her side.

* * *

_A/n: Opening lines of 'Alice in Wonderland' gratefully borrowed from Lewis Carroll. Also, I know I'm taking a few liberties with Matthew's background, but this is just how I imagine it._

_Thank you for reading! I'm always incredibly touched to hear your thoughts!_


	10. Chapter 10

_Hello! Thank you for all of your kind words and continued support; it means so much to me. : ) Special thanks to __Willa Dedalus__ and __EOlivet__ for their very touching enthusiasm._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Chapter 10

_29__th__ September 1916_

Mary woke with a smile, as she had done for over a week now. The early autumn sunshine was streaming through the gap in her curtains, catching the jewelled band on her finger and casting patterns of light on the walls. The memory of that night was still fresh in her mind, warming her and making her heart ache and flutter in equal measure. They were engaged. He was hers and she was his, as they should have been long ago… But he had had to leave again. This time, they had stood far closer than was proper; had kissed and held hands and whispered words of adoration that were for each other and no one else, and then…he was gone. And when she remembered that, other memories intruded.

She went riding, smiling as Diamond trotted merrily along, the happiness of his rider infectious. She drove into York and Ripon, taking Edith for company. She went out walking, had tea with Isobel, read in the drawing room; needing to keep busy in a way she hadn't before, distracting herself from thoughts that threatened to spoil her happiness.

_Dearest Matthew,_

_I hope that you made it back safely. Though if I'm being honest, I'd rather that you weren't there at all because then your safety would be guaranteed. How is your shoulder? I know that you said that Clarkson said it's healing, but that doesn't mean you have to be reckless._

_Mama has already started trying to plan the wedding, but I told her that there's not a lot we can do when we don't know when the groom will next be coming home. She has made a start on a guest list though, but there, I think, we are all powerless to stop her. Papa has told her that a large society wedding is out of the question in the middle of a war, so I hope she listens. Your mother offered elopement as a suggestion, but I hardly think I need to share my mother's (or grandmother's) views on __that__._

_Please look after yourself, and remember to eat. You'll be no good to anyone if you're ill._

"_But love me for love's sake, that evermore thou may'st love on through love's eternity."_

_Mary._

* * *

_9__th__ October 1916_

"Post!" The men sat up at the sound of the one word that cheered them all, hopeful faces waiting expectantly as the officers made their way through the trenches. Matthew sighed; he hated delivering the post and seeing the brief look of disappointment when a solider hadn't received any that day. Names were called and letters and parcels were handed out, and eventually he went back to the officer's tent, sinking down at the desk. Matthew looked down at the six letters still clutched in his hands. Six letters representing six men that wouldn't ever be able to read them, that would be burnt as if they had never existed in the first place.

"Crawley, I've got one for you!" Matthew looked up and took the envelope that was in his face, smiling at the familiar handwriting.

"Thank you, Stevens," he nodded at the other captain and quickly read the letter, smiling again.

"So, it from your girl then?" The other man sat down on the chair opposite, pulled off his cap and ran his hands through his dark hair, smirking as Matthew couldn't stop the grin that spread across his face.

"Fiancée. I asked her last time I was at home." Fiancée…it still sounded so strange in his head. She wasn't just Mary, she was going to be his wife, and those six letters were momentarily forgotten as he pulled out a fresh sheet of paper.

_Mary, my darling,_

_I'm very happy to hear from you. Your letters are always a great comfort, and a joy to read! The journey over here was alright, a little stormy, but I've faced worse. My shoulder aches, but it's better than it was. I got one of the medics to check the dressing. I'm not doing anything strenuous though. I'm not really doing anything at the moment. I've been moved to a place that's less busy than where I was during the summer._

_Darling, please don't feel like you can't arrange anything just because I'm not there. Surely you could sort out something like your dress? I'm inclined to agree with you father about a large wedding, but I'll bear in mind my mother's suggestion… Perhaps there may be something in that! I'd always imagined having a small and quiet wedding anyway, and Scotland isn't too far away…_

_I will take care, as you must. Don't make yourself ill by worrying about me, and I know I can't tell you not to worry about me…you won't listen!_

"_Parting is such sweet sorrow."_

_Love,_

_Matthew._

* * *

_21__st__ October 1916_

_Matthew,_

_I'm glad your shoulder is getting better. I hope that if you're injured again, you won't keep it from me! I'm glad it's quiet, and I'm glad you were sensible and sought the advice of a medic._

_As much as I would like to, I just can't muster Mama's enthusiasm for wedding planning. It doesn't feel right to plan it without you here. It'll be your wedding as well. Although Isobel's suggestion is looking more tempting as time passes… In all seriousness, I can't see Papa agreeing to that, so a quiet wedding at the church is what it will be. I hope you're not too disappointed! Perhaps we could travel to Scotland for our honeymoon instead._

_There's something else I have to tell you, and I wish I didn't because you won't like it, but there's nothing to be done about it. Do you remember at Christmas, meeting the friend of my aunt's? Somehow, and I'm not sure how exactly, but he came to be in possession of a story about me…the story of what happened four years ago…and he's published it, just after I sent my last letter. Darling, please don't be angry, because there really is nothing to be done; Papa had Murray look into it. I'm so very sorry, but I didn't want you to find out from anyone else, well…I hope you haven't anyway. I will understand if you want to end our engagement._

_Take care,_

_Mary._

* * *

_13__th__ September 1916_

"_I'm surprised you haven't given me some extenuating circumstances." Sir Richard Carlisle stepped forwards, his blue eyes carefully observing the young woman sat at his desk._

"_I have none. I was foolish, and I was paid out for my folly." She knew she sounded cold, unfeeling, but now was not the time for sentiment, even though her heart ached. This was her worst nightmare, and she was by herself. She'd told her father that she could sort it out alone, but what she really wanted was for Matthew to be at her side, but he wasn't…couldn't be._

"_I am going to publish. My job is to sell newspapers, and this will certainly do that."_

"_I understand." She stood, drawing herself up to her full height. "Thank you for your time Sir Richard." He crossed the room and moved to the door, his hand just resting on the doorknob, pausing for a moment as he thought about his next words, a faint smile gracing his features._

"_There is one thing you could do that could stop me publishing this, if you agreed to it." Mary looked up sharply and met his piercing gaze._

"_Oh, and what might that be?"_

"_You could marry me."_

* * *

_30__th__ October 1916_

_Mary,_

_Of course I don't want to call off the engagement. I've said all I need to on that matter. I'm only sorry that I can't be there with you, and that I can't do anything to help, because you know that I would try. I almost wish you hadn't told me, but at least the news doesn't seem to have made its way over here. We don't really get to see any newspapers, and especially not British ones. By the time the news reaches France, I'm sure it will have blown over in England._

_How bad is it over there anyway? Are __you__ alright? A Scottish honeymoon sounds wonderful. I visited Edinburgh for a few days when I was at university, so it would be nice to go back, and I don't think I'd want to travel through Europe so soon again anyway._

_Enough of that though, how is everyone else? How are things at the house? Have you been out riding much?_

_Yours,_

_Matthew._

* * *

_13__th__ November 1916_

_Matthew,_

_Thank you, though I'm sure I don't deserve you Matthew. My aunt advised me to stay away from for London for a while, but it seems to have died down here. I'm alright, it could be worse I suppose. Some of the officers made comments, but Papa overheard and made it clear that if they spoke out of turn again, he would not hesitate in sending them away. He had our engagement formally announced in the newspaper a few days later, not in one owned by that man of course. He thinks that that might have taken away some of the attention from the scandal, what with you being a captain in France (or wherever you are) and all. I told Isobel, by the way, before it was published. I thought it was right that she should find out properly._

_Everyone else is fine, though I think our mothers close to falling out. If it's not the running of the home, it's the potential wedding plans, and of course Granny is putting her point to whoever appears to be 'winning'. Papa is – wisely – staying out of it! As are my sisters. Speaking of Sybil… I'm rather worried about her. I think she's in love. I do hope it's not with one of the officers. _

_I've been riding when I can, which means that Diamond is as happy as I am._

_Do you know if you'll be back for Christmas at all?_

_Mary._

* * *

_14 December 1916_

_My Dear,_

_I am going to follow your advice from a long time ago and not pay attention to what you say. I'm glad your father is looking out for you. Please thank him on my behalf for announcing the engagement._

_I'm sorry that I've not been there to face it with you, but you're strong Mary, a storm-braver if ever there was one, and I know that you will have made it through this particular storm with more grace than most would manage. Thank you for telling Mother. I appreciate that, and I'm sure she did too._

_I hope that things between Cousin Cora and Mother have improved, but I do know what my mother is like at times, so I apologise if things are worse! My father always used to say that she was an unstoppable force, but please don't tell her I said that!_

_I don't think you need to worry about Sybil. I'm sure she'll be fine, whoever she might be in love with. And besides, you're engaged to an officer, so we can't be that bad!_

_I won't be back for Christmas. We're too busy, and I can't be spared, but I should hopefully be granted some leave in the New Year._

_Love,_

_Matthew._

* * *

_28__th__ December 1916_

_Dearest Matthew,_

_Thank you for the gloves, but you really shouldn't have. It seems that with Christmas, and war news, and the engagement announcement, the scandal is all but forgotten. Rosamund had the cheek to ask Papa if she could bring Carlisle for Christmas again. I'm sure you imagine his answer to that! Mama and Isobel are barely speaking now. I told them both that we had decided not to make any plans for the wedding until you were back properly, and they seemed satisfied with that, so now it just seems to be the running of the home that's driving them apart._

_I know I am, and that is precisely why I don't want either of my sisters to find themselves in the same situation. Anyway, Sybil is in love with Branson, the chauffeur. She told me a few days ago. She's mad, of course, because Papa would never allow anything to happen. He's a servant for goodness sake! He'd lose his job if Papa even found out that she liked him._

_I hope you're looking after yourself, even though you're busy._

_Love,_

_Mary._

* * *

_18__th__ January 1917_

_Mary,_

_Yes I did. Anyway, it was Mother that chose them; I just sent her the list! Thank you for the socks, they'll certainly come in handy here. Thank God your Papa had the sense to turn down your aunt's request. The nerve of them both to even consider it! Mother hasn't mentioned any problems with Cousin Cora in her letters, but I don't suppose she would. I hope it will pass. Perhaps they're spending too much time together running the home._

_I must confess, my dear, that I don't understand why Sybil shouldn't love Branson and why your father would be so angry about it. He might be a chauffeur, but what has that got to do with anything if he'd make Sybil happy? I'm still a middle-class solicitor, so where does that leave us if that's your view?_

_Matthew._

* * *

_30__th__ January 1917_

_Matthew,_

_It's hardly the same thing. You're my father's heir, and Branson is not, and that's the last we'll say of it now. I'm not going to fight with you through letters. We can argue all you like when you come home._

_Things between our mothers have thawed slightly, unlike the snow that fell just before Christmas; that hasn't melted yet. I hope you're well._

_Mary._

* * *

_11__th__ February 1917_

_Mary, darling,_

_I'm sorry; I don't want to fight either. _

_I'm glad to hear our mothers are getting along better. It's snowed here as well, but it resembles mud more than actual snow. I can't believe that it's already been a year since we were last in winter! _

_All being well, I should be coming home for a week or two at the end of March or start of April. I hope so anyway, because…God Mary, I miss you, and it's strange that I'm allowed to say that now just because we're engaged, when the truth is that I've missed you every single day that I've not seen you, even before we were anything to each other. I missed you as soon as I boarded the train to Manchester in 1914, and my darling, I can't tell you how happy I was when you said yes to this proposal._

_I apologise if that's too much, but it's the truth, and we spent far too long not being honest with each other. I hope I get to see you soon._

_All my love,_

_Matthew._

* * *

_3__rd__ March 1917_

_Matthew,_

_I'm sorry too, and we shall say no more about it. Such flowery language though! Maybe there really is a poet lurking beneath the lawyer… I hope you won't think any less of me for saying that I miss you too._

_I have more bad news to share with you, though I suppose it's not that bad, not really. Isobel has left Downton. I don't know exactly what happened – I don't think anyone does – but there was an argument with my mother, and Isobel has left for France to work for the Red Cross. I tried to get her to reconsider, but she had made her mind up. She said she'd write properly once she was settled but asked me to let you know in the meantime. Perhaps you'll see her. Papa was furious, at Mama, of course, but it was too late then. He has moved your staff to the big house though, so you don't have to worry about them (and don't worry about the house either). By all accounts, Mrs Bird and Mrs Patmore seem to get along remarkably well._

_Edith is planning another concert for around Easter time, so I hope you'll be back for then. I might even sing if you are back, but only if you ask very nicely!_

_Look after yourself, and please write soon._

_Love,_

_Mary._

* * *

_7__th__ April 1917_

"Just one song Mary, please."

"Edith, I really don't want to," Mary called over her shoulder as she walked towards the stairs.

"But you said-" Mary stopped and sighed, her hands clenching into fists at her side, the metal band cold and heavy on her finger.

"I know what I said, but that was before…" She closed her eyes, blinking away the tears that had suddenly appeared.

"I'm sure he's perfectly alright," Edith spoke softly, moving towards her sister, wanting to reach for her, but not knowing if she could, if it would be welcomed. She was, after all, the one who had shared the information.

"You don't know that though, do you?" Mary turned then, and looked at the younger woman in front of her; the dark eyes that matched her own, filled with worry and regret. Edith had said that she hadn't been trying to upset her, and Mary had believed her, but that didn't mean that the news itself wasn't upsetting. They stared at each other for a long moment, ignoring the hustle and bustle of the people moving around them.

"Mary, you should listen to your sister." Both women turned to see Robert approaching them, his face serious. "Edith, would give us a moment please?" She nodded as she headed back to the library, Robert turned to Mary, his expression softening. "I know he's missing, and I know you're worried, as we all are, but it's important for the officers to keep their spirits up, and that's why you should sing." He reached for her hand and gently squeezed her fingers, smiling as he felt the ring against his palm, glad that his heir had seen sense before he had had to leave again. Mary took a deep breath and nodded, forcing a smile and ignoring the ache in her chest and the dark thoughts that kept pushing their way into her head as she carried on up the stairs.

_Matthew,_

_I don't know if I should write this, because at the moment I don't know if you'll ever get to read it. You're missing, and I know that Papa is trying not to fear the worst and trying to stay optimistic for everyone's sake, but I'm afraid that I can't share his hope. When you've not written before, I've just assumed that you were busy, but to have it confirmed that you're actually missing, that no one knows where you are…_

_Please just…hurry home or write soon and at least let me know that you're safe._

_Love, always,_

_Mary._

* * *

"If you were the only girl in the world, and I were the only boy," Mary trailed off, tapping her fingers against the piano. "I don't understand how Sybil has managed to escape this yet again!"

"She's working, or so she says," Edith raised her eyebrows at Mary and smiled. "Anyway, you sing beautifully, and you know you do. Shall we try again from the beginning?"

"Yes alright," Mary rolled her eyes and took a deep breath, waiting as Edith played the introduction. "Sometimes when I feel low and things look blue, I wish a boy I had, say one like you, someone within my heart to build a throne, someone who'd never part, to call my own." She felt a sharp pain in her chest as the words reminded her of Matthew. Darling Matthew, who was missing, who might be dead and she wouldn't even know. "If you were the only girl in the world, and I were the only boy. Nothing else would matter in the world today; we could go on loving in the same old way."

_Edith stood in front of her, her hands twitching nervously. "There's something you ought to know. Papa said not to tell you but I don't think he's right. Matthew's missing. He was on patrol and he's just sort of…vanished. Papa hasn't told anyone, not even Mama. I only know because I was there when he found out. But it didn't seem right to keep you in the dark. I'm not trying to upset you, truly." Dark brown eyes filled with tears as a shaking voice relayed the terrible news. Gloved hands clasped together. The words slicing through her like a knife._

"I think we need a man; it would sound so much richer!" Edith sighed as Mary paused, her hands still moving across the black and white keys. Mary nodded and looked down, feeling that sick feeling in her stomach and the prickle of tears behind her eyes once more. Her gaze drifted to her left hand, to the ring; the ring that meant everything, that she had never expected to receive, however much she might have hoped.

"Can I help?" His smooth voice travelled through the quiet room.

Mary's head shot up, meeting the bright blue eyes and the broad grin as he headed straight towards her, taking long strides through the library. Her heart thudded and she knew she was smiling too, unable to stop the flood of relief and pure joy that washed over her, their eyes locked together as he reached for her hand, threading their fingers together, and everyone and everything else faded around them. "Come on; don't stop on my account… I would say such wonderful things to you, there would be such wonderful things to do, if you were the only girl in the world, and I were the only boy!" The officers in the library around them clapped, startling them both back into reality, making them smile shyly at each other as a deep blush coloured their cheeks.

"Thank you, we hope you'll enjoy the full concert later," Edith stood and took the attention away from the couple, whose eyes were only for each other, allowing them to slip out of the room unnoticed.

In the alcove under the stairs, hidden by the old stone pillars, Matthew's hands found Mary's hips and he gently nudged her until her back was against the wall, her hands resting on his chest, looking deeply into each other's eyes, smiling at the reality of being in each other's arms once more, of being able to touch…to kiss…

"Oh my darling," he breathed, looking over her as if she was the most precious thing in the world; which to him, she was. Her lips parted under the weight of his adoring gaze, and his eyes dropped to them, wetting his own lips as he leaned in and kissed her, pressing himself closer as she whimpered quietly into his mouth, her hands sliding into his hair, gripping it and keeping his head as close to hers as possible as their mouths met in glorious, heady passion.

* * *

_A/n: Poetry kindly borrowed from 'Romeo and Juliet' and Elizabeth Barrett Browning's 'Sonnet from the Portuguese XIV'. I wasn't really sure how to write Carlisle so I hope I've done him justice. Also, I might not be able to update next week, because work and real life are going to be incredibly busy and I don't know how much time I'll have to write, but we'll see! And finally, the rating is going to change in the next chapter... Just letting you know that...  
_

_As always, thank you so much for reading, and I'm always curious to hear your thoughts!_


	11. Chapter 11

_Hello! Well, as always, thank you SO MUCH for your continued support with this. It means so much to me! Special thanks to Orangeshipper who has listened to me waffle on endlessly about this chapter._

_Oh yeah, and um…rating change…_

_So on that note…enjoy!_

* * *

Chapter 11

_9__th__ April 1917_

Mary stood at the top of the stairs and looked down at Matthew, taking a moment to observe him unnoticed. He was stood perfectly still and straight, looking out of the open doors, his hands clasped behind his back. He was alive and there and waiting for her, and she didn't want to waste a single second of their precious time together

"Anna said you were here to see me." Matthew turned and smiled as Mary appeared at the bottom of the stairs, striding towards her and greeting her with a tender kiss.

"Yes. I wanted to take you out for the day," his hands found hers, his eyes tracing every feature of her beautiful face, her smile broadening at his words.

"Oh really Captain Crawley? And might I ask where I am to be taken, or is it a surprise?" The corners of her mouth twitched as their hands swung between them, his thumbs rubbing across her knuckles.

"We're going for a picnic. I shan't tell you where though, but I've cleared it with your father, and with Branson."

"You're driving?" He nodded. "Well, I suppose I'd better go and get ready then." He kissed her hand before releasing it and watched her go back up the stairs. She hadn't asked what had happened when he had been missing. She had stood and listened while he had explained to Robert and the others, her fingers tightening their grip on his arm as he recalled the events that had led to his capture behind enemy lines and him going missing, but she hadn't spoken to him directly about it.

Yet even now, he still hadn't told them everything. How could he? How could he tell them that he had been minutes from death? That the scratch under his chin was from where a bayonet had been pressed into his skin? That he hadn't known fear until the cold metal of a gun barrel had been pressed to his forehead? That once they had been rescued and seen a doctor and been told to go home for a few days, they had gone to Paris, where he had refused the advances of a particularly amorous prostitute and then drank until he had almost blacked out, before staggering outside and vomiting in the street? He burnt with shame at his behaviour; he'd been given chance after chance when many hadn't, and he had repaid their sacrifice by drowning his sorrows with cheap whiskey.

"Are you ready?" Mary appeared in front of him, jolting him from his thoughts, the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach not quite disappearing.

"I just need to get the picnic basket," he replied with a smile, feeling himself warm as Mary's dark eyes looked at him intently, ignoring the ache in his chest as he thought that in the seven months of their engagement, this was the longest time they had spent together as fiancés, and heading towards the stairs for the kitchen.

* * *

Outside, the sun was shining and the sky was clear, brilliant blue. There was a gentle breeze, and the air felt fresh and clean in their lungs; it was a perfect spring day.

"You really should come and stay with us; or at least have your staff back," Mary spoke after a few minutes as the house disappeared from view, watching Matthew's fingers as they flexed on the steering wheel and remembering them clutching at her hips, letting her gaze travel up to his profile, smiling fondly as she noticed the tuft of hair sticking out from under his cap.

"I know, but I don't want to disrupt things there. I can manage perfectly well by myself, and Mrs Bird gave me some extra food to take back." He glanced at Mary, just in time to see her nod in response, but noticed that she was staring at the road ahead, seemingly deep in thought.

He drove for almost an hour, before turning into a narrow country lane and slowing the car to a stop at the side of a large empty field. Hopping out, he moved to the other side to help Mary out, keeping her hand in his as he sought her gaze.

"Are you alright?" Mary looked up, surprised by the question.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" He opened his mouth to answer, but decided against it, leaning in to kiss her instead. They walked slowly across the field, hands clasped together with Matthew carrying the cumbersome basket, until they came to a large oak tree, where Matthew stopped and laid out a large blanket and set out the food, inviting Mary to sit next to him, smiling as she started to unfasten her coat.

"Wine with lunch?" She smiled as she noticed the bottle, removing her gloves as she curled her legs underneath her, making herself as comfortable as she could on the hard ground.

"Well, we've not really celebrated yet, have we?" He smiled and leaned in to kiss her, his hands moving to her neck, his fingers lightly tracing over her skin, while hers clutched at his wrists, only breaking apart when the low rumble of his stomach startled them. "Oh I am sorry!" Mary laughed gently and kissed him again, quickly this time, and reached for a plate.

* * *

Matthew took the final bite of his apple with a grin before throwing the core as far as he could, watching as it soared across the field, impressed as it landed further than he thought it would, smiling as he settled back against the tree.

"You are so childish Matthew," Mary tried to sound serious, but the gentle twitch of her lips told him that she wasn't annoyed in the slightest.

"You weren't even watching!" He looked down, enjoying the image of her stretched out on the blanket next to him, her eyes closed against the bright sunlight. Here, like this, it was easy to forget that there was a war and that all too soon he would have to leave her again… For now, there was just the two of them, and he wanted to hang onto that for as long as he could.

"You don't know that I wasn't," she murmured, shifting and moving closer to him. He grinned and moved until he was lying next to her, leaning on his elbow as he let his eyes drift over her, his heart so full of love that he thought it might burst. She shifted again and her skirt rode up, uncovering her ankles. Matthew stared distractedly at them for longer than he probably would have done if he had been thinking sensibly, wondering what the rest of her legs looked like, what they would look like without the covering of her silk stockings…what she would look like without any clothes... Arousal burnt through his veins, sudden and intense, and he swallowed thickly.

Sensing that she was being watched, Mary opened her eyes, gasping as she met his dark gaze, her cheeks flushing as she flooded with desire at the intensity with which he was looking at her.

"Oh Mary," he breathed, and bent his head to kiss her, his hand settling on her waist as hers moved to his shoulders, eyes closing as her lips parted against the gentle, _wonderful_, pressure of his. They both moaned quietly and shifted closer together, their arms wrapping around each other and legs tangling together as much as they could. Matthew's tongue glanced against Mary's, and she responded…he sought it again, her fingers sliding into his hair, and he groaned, rolling them so that he was almost on top of her, their heads tilting and moving and hands clutching as the kiss deepened with each passing second… They had never kissed like this before, and it was wonderful, dizzying, intoxicating… _different_, and the awareness that this was leading somewhere – leading to _more_ – lurked in the periphery of their consciousness. Their quiet gasps and moans filled the heavy air as Matthew dragged his lips from Mary's and kissed her cheek…jaw…neck…ear, wanting to know every part of her, her skin burning with each brush of his lips against her heated skin, with each gentle nip with his teeth. Daringly, he moved his hand from her waist, trailing it up and lightly grazing her breast. She whimpered and writhed up against him, seeking a release from the ache that was pulsing through her, giving him permission to indulge in a firmer caress, tugging at his hair to bring his mouth back to hers, their bodies pressing together as closely as they could through the barriers of cotton and silk and wool. He groaned, shifted his weight and his caress, feeling her smile against him as he moved his attentions to her other breast, while she stroked her thumb over the scratch on his throat, breaking the kiss to brush her lips against his neck, sucking lightly where she could see his pulse fluttering under his skin, gently pressing her mouth to the tender razor burn on his throat, eliciting a deep moan from him.

Thought of any kind had dissipated completely as they got lost in each other, ignoring everything around them, for there was only them. Him and her and their hands and mouths, showing their love, their desire, their _need_ for each other as they never had before… Arousal burnt through them so strongly that it was almost painful. His tie was discarded, her blouse was tugged out from her skirt, his free hand had found its way up one of her silk-covered legs, his fingers stroking the outside of her thigh as hers fiddled with the buttons on his shirt. They wanted – _needed_ – this, and at that unconscious realisation their kisses became more frantic, their hands and fingers gripped more tightly, their moans became more breathless, desperate to relieve the throbbing ache they both felt coursing through them.

The deep crack of a canon made Matthew jump and he looked up suddenly, expecting to see the broken fields of France and the fallen bodies of his men. But there was only Mary, with hooded eyes and red lips, a deep blush colouring her cheeks and neck, looking at him curiously, not quite understanding why he'd stopped. It sounded again and he pushed himself off her, sitting up with his back to her, running his hands through his hair as thoughts and memories from across the channel assaulted him in quick succession, chilling him to his very core.

"It's only a bit of thunder, Matthew." Mary eased herself up, straightened her blouse and rested a hand on his shoulder. At her touch, he turned to look at her, the reality of their situation hitting him as he took in her pink cheeks and rumpled clothes. She was so beautiful, so perfect, and _God_, he loved her _so much_ – loved her with all that he had, with every fibre of his being, and…they were in a field. She deserved more, deserved _better_ than that, than him. He didn't deserve her. How could he after everything that he'd done? He was suddenly overcome with a sick sense of guilt, shame…anger.

"This shouldn't be how it is. Not here, not like this," he muttered as he stood, hastily replacing and straightening his clothes, flinching as another deep roll of thunder shuddered through the sky, the clear blue having been replaced with inky grey clouds. There was a sharp crack and bright flash as lightning forked in the distance.

"Matthew, what-" Mary stood, smoothing her hair and skirt, starting towards him.

"We need to go before it starts raining," he interrupted, brushing past her and packing up the picnic things, avoiding meeting her gaze as he shrugged on his jacket and cap as she watched him incredulously, unable to fathom exactly what had changed in those few minutes since that first rumble of thunder.

They were too late. The heavens opened and they were soaked in seconds as they walked back to the car. They drove back in a silence that was awkward and fragile, and too much like how things had been before. Matthew's knuckles were white against the steering wheel and out of the corner of her eye Mary could see the tension etched across his face, his lips pressed together in a tight line. Was he angry at himself? At her? She didn't know, didn't think she really wanted to know. She turned her attention to the window at her side, a blur of green and grey as they wound back through the estate towards the house, and as the silence sat uncomfortably between them, broken only by the roar of the rain outside, her mind wandered, filling her head with dark thoughts, and for the first time, she wondered if he had meant what he said.

Matthew pulled into the yard and stopped the car abruptly, exiting and reaching for the picnic basket without a second glance at Mary as Branson appeared from the garage and hurried to open the door for her.

"Matthew!" He turned, his gaze bright and intense, hers dark and…furious. They stood, not daring to move, chests rising and falling quickly, neither knowing what to say that could possibly salvage the day.

"Goodbye Mary." He bobbed his head, and then stalked off, the dark green disappearing into the grey of the pouring rain. Mary wanted to shout him, run after him, anything… But she would not put herself through that indignity in front of the chauffeur, who was pretending he hadn't seen.

"Milady, I think you should get yourself inside before you catch a chill," Branson appeared at Mary's side once more, holding out an already sodden blanket. She turned suddenly, as if realising that he was there, and nodded slowly, ignoring the blanket, and making her way back to the house, not caring that she was soaked to the skin.

* * *

_10__th__ April 1917_

Matthew stared at the page in front of him, the words just a black blur as his concentration drifted, his mind wandering back to the previous day. He hadn't thought that it was possible to hate himself more than he already did, but then yesterday had happened. It had been wonderful until the stormy weather of an English spring spoilt it and his thoughts had intruded, and now… Now she hated him too, she must do. He knew that he should go and apologise, should tell her everything…

A quick knock on the door pulled him from his reverie, and he sighed as he padded to the front door, hoping that the caller would not mind his lack of jacket or shoes, and also that they wouldn't be long. He wanted to be alone. All thought of that was forgotten, however, as he opened the door to see…

"Mary!" His heart thudded as she pushed past him, removing her damp hat and coat and hanging them up before turning back to Matthew, who was still stood holding the door open, drops of rain splattering on his feet, soaking through his socks.

"I think we have one or two things to discuss, don't you?" She stood in the hallway, hands twisting together, not quite bold enough to head to the sitting room straight away as she did when she visited Isobel. It was different with Matthew here. This was the first time she had visited _him_ at Crawley House, and she was incredibly aware that they were alone, and that he wasn't dressed properly for receiving visitors. She glanced over him quickly, and her heart started to pound erratically as she looked at his arms, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, looked at the pale bare skin and wondered what it would feel like under her fingers...

"I suppose we do," he closed the door and gestured for her to go through ahead of him.

Mary stood in front of the window, looking out into the garden, twisting her necklace, the atmosphere already thick between them.

"What happened yesterday?" Her attention was fixed on something outside and he took a step towards her, tapping his thumbs against his fingers. "I thought… It seemed like you…wanted…to."

"I…did, but it wasn't…right, we couldn't have..." Mary turned, meeting his gaze, and he noticed that her eyes were red, and everything he'd felt in the past week simmered to the surface and he wanted to weep, or hit something…_anything_ to rid himself of his hateful, toxic memories.

"Why?" Her tone was sharp, accusing and he flinched even as his blood boiled with frustration.

"Because you deserve something – _someone_ – better!" He snapped, his hands balling into fists at his side. Their eyes met, watching each other warily, breathing heavily. Matthew closed his eyes and briefly shook his head, before opening them again, his voice softer. "I don't… Why are you doing this? Why are you waiting for me?"

"Oh for goodness sake Matthew, you know exactly why!" She flung back bitterly, realising that – somehow – they were now closer than they had been, the air stifling, suffocating them. Something flickered across his face, and just like that she knew. Knew why he had stopped himself the day before, knew why he had proposed. "Why are you so convinced that you won't come back?"

"Why are you so convinced that I will?" The words hung between them, challenging someone to make the next move, to say something that could undo everything they had built together.

Their faces were now inches apart, eyes locked as their lips parted, and whatever had been ignited the previous day sparked again, hotter and more intense, consuming them with need as they both gave in; wrapping their arms around each other as their mouths met in a clash of teeth and tongues, moaning as they stumbled and…hit the wall, then the doorframe, hands clutching as they staggered up the stairs, never breaking apart from the deep, desperate kiss. Their argument and any reasons why they shouldn't carry on…_everything_, were all forgotten, their minds utterly clouded with arousal.

Mary's back hit a door (or a wall, she couldn't tell) and Matthew pressed against her, grinning against her lips as she wriggled and writhed against him, her hands tugging at his tie, their hips pushing together as they moved again, almost falling through an open door. The room filled with nervous laughter and quiet gasps and sighs as trembling hands worked on buttons and buckles and hooks and zips, pulling away material until eventually they were both naked, finally breaking apart as their eyes roved hungrily over each other. He was pale, lean, his torso dotted with scars and sporting a large yellow bruise on his ribs. She was pale, freckled, slim, and more beautiful than he ever could have imagined. She quickly pulled the pins and combs from her hair, letting it cascade down her back, smiling as his jaw dropped further.

Mary reached out a hand and lightly traced it over his chest, her fingers curling in the hair there, then moving to his shoulder, and as she leaned in and kissed the jagged scar from his injury, he sighed and settled his hands on her hips, pulling her close once more, heat building between them as skin met skin for the first time.

"Mary, we don't-" he murmured as he nuzzled her neck, certain that he wouldn't be able to tear himself away from her now, knowing how her skin felt under his fingers, how she looked with her long dark hair tumbling over her shoulders.

"I know," she gasped as his hands slid down from her hips and squeezed gently. They didn't have to, shouldn't – not really – but they wanted to, and that outweighed all rational thought. And besides, how could they stop now when it felt so wonderful, so wholly _right_?

They kissed, more slowly and deeply than before, as they moved towards the bed, the sheets already rumpled from where he hadn't bothered to make it only a few short hours ago. Sinking down against the blankets, Mary pulled Matthew on top of her, reaching for one hand and lacing their fingers together as he dragged his lips from hers, down her neck and throat, down to her breasts, groaning against her as his mouth closed around one. She was so warm, and soft, and her skin was like silk, and he _loved_ her. His free hand gently massaged her other breast, exploring her as he had been unable to do before. Reluctantly, he pulled away and started to trail his lips down from her breasts, down over her slender tummy, down…his hands gently, tentatively, easing her thighs apart, pausing for a moment and then pressing his lips gently to her, grinning as she moaned loudly and shifting her hips as he did it again, this time applying more pressure, and then…instinct took over…

Mary thought that she might pass out from the glorious, dizzying sensation of his lips and tongue moving over her, slowing and speeding up, alternating between gentle kisses and firmer licks. She was panting, her fingers twisted in his hair with a vice-like grip, his hands holding her hips in place. She cried out and arched up to him as raw need burnt though her like wild fire… And then she was soaring as the pleasure built within her, building and building as he carried on, groaning against her as she bucked…stiffened…shuddered in a searing release, only stopping when she pushed his head away. He slowly kissed his way back up her body, lingering on her breasts for a moment, then kissing her deeply as they shifted and he settled between her legs, her hands clutching his shoulders as his gripped her hips. They opened their eyes and Mary nodded, almost imperceptibly, smiling breathlessly as he slid inside her, pausing at the overwhelming sensation of her hot and tight around him, moaning as he moved his hips, tentatively at first, finding a slow and steady rhythm. Her feet brushed against his legs before she lifted her own and wrapped them around him, leaning up to kiss him as he thrust harder, her hips rising to meet his… Their bodies moved together instinctively….hands clutching and gripping in just the right way, stroking over sweat-slicked skin, mouths meeting in deep kisses, teeth nipping, hips rocking together as arousal throbbed through them, taking over and pushing them closer and closer to the precipice… Gasps became moans and groans became grunts as they moved faster, as he thrust harder, deeper…

"Oh God, Mary," he groaned against her lips, his hips jerking wildly against hers as her nails dug into his skin, as she tightened around him… And everything was hot and tight and burning and it was all-consuming… And then…she froze again, her back arched and she shattered around him with a sharp cry, sending him over the edge of his own release, his face burying into the crook of her neck as he shuddered in ecstasy, his movements sloppy as they slowed…and then…he collapsed on top of her, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. Limbs uncurled as heartbeats and breathing slowed…calmed, and eventually he rolled off her onto his back, pulling her to his side, wrapping his arms around her as their legs tangled together in the damp sheets, the sweat on their skin cooling as aftershocks of pleasure jolted through them, making them tremble.

"Mary?" He murmured into her hair as his fingers traced lazy circles over her back.

"Hmm?" Her own fingers were stroking over the hair on his chest, her eyes heavy, a warm drowsy weight settling over her.

"Was it… It didn't – I didn't hurt you, did I? It was the first – I've never done…that before, so I don't know…" She lifted her head and met his gaze, knowing exactly what he meant. There had been no pain, only glorious sensation, so wholly different than what it had been before that she could barely remember _that_. Matthew had cleansed her, had purged it from her and made everything right, and she didn't think she could have loved him any more in that moment than she already did, and her heart swelled at his admission that he had given himself to her, her darling Matthew, for he really was hers, and hers alone.

"No, you didn't hurt me. It was…wonderful!" She smiled and leaned in to kiss him softly, shifting closer to him, smiling again as he kissed her head, both drifting towards sleep, exhausted and satisfied in the most fulfilling way imaginable.

* * *

Matthew woke to a strange tickling under his nose. His eyes opened and all he could see was a thick dark mass of hair. He lifted his head to look at the clock on the bedside cabinet and noticed that it was almost time for lunch, slowly extricating himself from the tangle of sheets and Mary's limbs, pulling on his dressing down, his heart contracting as he watched her for a moment. She was curled up on his usual side of the bed, her thick dark hair spread out across the pillows, her lips parted, her hand clutching the blanket around her. He left the room with a sigh as the fog on his thoughts lifted and his eyes stung with tears.

Mary rolled onto her back, delicious contentment washing over her as she opened her eyes and took stock of her surroundings, momentarily surprised…and then she remembered, with a shy smile and a deep blush that went from her toes her face. Sitting up and pulling the sheet up to cover her, she glanced around the room. It was light and airy, even though it was still grey and raining outside, and not at all how she might have imagined it (not that she had given it much thought, of course), and one day it would be her bedroom. Once they were married, they would live here together, and share this room, this bed…as they should have been since 1914. She frowned, hands clasping together as she caught sight of her engagement ring, feeling a sharp ache in her chest as she looked at the crumpled sheets around her and the scattered clothes on the floor, his words ringing in her ears. He was right – it shouldn't have been like this at all. Tears filled her eyes and she covered her face as they fell, hating herself more than she ever had before.

Matthew swung the door open with a small smile, but it vanished as he saw her hunched over her knees crying. Setting the tray down, he quickly moved to her side, confused and a little scared by this very un-Mary like behaviour. Pulling her into his arms, he rubbed her back for a moment, and then brought one hand forward to cup her chin and gently tilt her head up.

"Mary, what is it?" His eyes flickered across her face, seeing the pain in her eyes.

"I'm so sorry Matthew." She whispered, squeezing her eyes shut and shaking her head.

"What on earth for?" Panic flooded him. She'd said it hadn't hurt, that he hadn't hurt her, but now she was clearly distressed and…

"Because I really did ruin everything," she sobbed, burying her head against his chest as he stared at her in disbelief, an almost forgotten memory surfacing.

"Darling, no. You haven't, _please_ don't say that." He swallowed, feeling tears fill his own eyes once more.

"But it's true. Because this, here…well it should have been our wedding night, and it should have been three years ago, and it wasn't…because of me." A deep shuddering sob broke out of her as her hands clutched at him, and all he could do was hold her tighter and press his face into her hair as his own hot tears fell, clinging together as they silently wept.

* * *

"I wish you'd set a date," Matthew murmured as his fingers twirled a lock of her hair. He felt her sigh against him, then shift as she turned to reach for the cup of tea on the bedside cabinet, settling back against the pillows as she took a sip, meeting his gaze over the rim.

"Matthew-"

"No. Set a date, and I promise that I will be there." He reached for her hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles, over the ring. "I promise." He licked his lips and smiled, looking deeply into her eyes. Mary couldn't doubt the sincerity of his words, or his gaze, and nodded slowly.

"Alright. How about Christmas?"

"Perfect," he smiled and took the cup from her, replacing it on the side and leaning in to kiss her.

It heated quickly, their skin sliding together as they shifted and shuffled down the bed, hands and mouths taking their time to explore as they hadn't done earlier, filling the air with their passionate cries as she grasped him…just…there, and as he kissed her just like that… As lips, tongues and fingers stroked and licked and sucked and caressed...driving each other to the brink, stoking the flames of their arousal. And this time he didn't need to ask he eased himself into her, the heady sensation of her around him already familiar, his movements more confident as they rocked together, cradling her in his arms as all of her tightened around all of him… They shifted, rolled and he thrust up into her as she fell forwards to kiss him, her hands braced on his chest… Soaring and crashing and shuddering together as they hurtled over the precipice in a perfect, shattering release.

* * *

_13__th__ April 1917_

"Have you got everything?" Mary's voice was soft, quiet, but he heard her above the noise of the station, meeting her gaze with a sad smile and reaching for her hand, feeling a spark even through the leather of their gloves, even under the circumstances.

"Yes, thank you." He dropped his bag to ground and reached into his pocket, smiling as he pulled out the little toy. "Including this; it comes everywhere with me."

"Without a scratch," she murmured as she took it from him and pushed it back into his coat pocket. Unable to fight it any longer, Matthew pulled Mary into a tight embrace, burying his face in her shoulder, past caring if anyone was staring. Their eyes closed as they fought the tears that had threatened to spill all morning, hearts aching at the pain of having to say goodbye after their few days of perfect happiness.

"I hope you manage to see Isobel when you're back over there," Mary forced herself to smile, ignoring the trembling of her voice as she pulled away slightly.

"Yes. Thank you for showing me her letter, I didn't think to let her know that I was back when it was only for a few days." Mary nodded, her fingers tightening around his. They stood in silence, not really knowing what else they could say. The train pulled in and they stepped closer together as it emptied. Wrapping one arm around her waist, Matthew leaned in pressed his lips to her forehead, lingering there. "I love you, so much my darling." Mary nodded against him, reaching her hand to tilt his face down to hers.

"And I love you," she blinked rapidly, her voice trembling again as she spoke those few words with complete sincerity. "And we've set a date, so you must come back you see. You promised, and darling, I don't think I could forgive you if you broke that!" She smiled weakly, attempting to lighten the mood. He smiled and nodded.

"I did promise," he leaned in and kissed her properly then, holding her as tightly as he could as her arms snaked around his neck. The porter called for the passengers and they reluctantly pulled apart. "I'll write soon, as soon as I can. And I'll see you at Christmas, if not before."

"Look after yourself, please." He nodded, kissed her again, and again, and a final time, not wanting to leave her, unable to bear the wrench of this goodbye. They had known each other; loved and worshipped and adored each other…but reality had interrupted, and he hadn't been able to ignore it. Her tears fell before he'd even closed the door properly, his heart breaking as he wanted to take her into his arms and tell her that everything would be alright. He stowed his bag and removed his cap and gloves before turning to the window, smiling as he saw her, forcing her to smile back, even though he could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest and the streaks that ran down her cheeks. She lifted her hand and waved at him and he nodded.

The whistle blew.

"I love you," he mouthed at her as the train started to move…and then he was gone.

* * *

_Thank you so much for reading. I'm always incredibly touched to hear your thoughts._


	12. Chapter 12

_Thank you for your continued support with this. It really means a lot to me. Extra special thanks to __Orangeshipper__ and __smndolphin for being my rocks as I wrote this chapter. I could not have done it without them._

* * *

Chapter 12

_23__rd__ April 1917_

It was a Monday, like any other, when Mary forced her heavy eyes open. She had not slept well the night before, plagued with dreams that had blurred her perception of reality, feeling so real that they surely must be, making her toss and turn restlessly. And yet, deep down, she knew that they weren't real, couldn't possibly be. Throwing off the covers, she rang the bell and went to the window, peering through the curtains at the grey sky of the early morning.

"I think I'll go riding this morning," Mary turned as Anna appeared a few minutes later, smiling briefly at the maid. "It doesn't look too bad outside."

"Yes milady," she replied, bobbing her head as she moved to the wardrobe and pulled out the riding clothes. "I'll get the message to Mr Lynch."

* * *

"Good morning milady. He's not had a good night I'm afraid," Lynch looked serious as Mary approached the stable, tightening his grip on the reins as the horse shifted restlessly, stopping only when he heard Mary. She stroked the horse's nose and took the reins from the groom.

"How do you mean?"

"I think he's been spooked. Maybe a rat got in with him." She nodded, only half-listening, keeping her eyes on Diamond's as he seemed to calm under her touch.

"Thank you. Maybe a ride will make him feel better."

Once settled on the horse, they set off at a slow pace and Mary murmured to the black horse, stroking his neck every so often.

"Well, boy, are you alright? I didn't sleep particularly well either. I know I shouldn't worry, but I can't help it. France feels like it's thousands of miles away at the moment. I just want him back, safe and sound, or to hear from him. Even that would be sufficient." The horse bowed his head, and Mary smiled briefly, wondering if perhaps he understood her.

* * *

_Paris, France_

"We've had another request from Mrs Jenkins in Bristol. I wrote last week and told her we were looking into it, but perhaps she hasn't received that yet."

"I don't think some of them can bear to think of the worst."

"Well, would you want to?"

"No I suppose I wouldn't. I don't know if it's worse for the mothers or wives and fiancées."

"Depends on the circumstances I suppose. Have you heard from your boy – Matthew isn't it – lately?" Isobel looked up from the piles of papers in front of her, unable to stop the proud smile at the mention of her son.

"Yes, Matthew. He wrote the other day. Apparently he'd been home for a few days, and they've finally agreed on a date. They want a Christmas wedding," she beamed as the other women in the small office all cooed their congratulations.

"Oh how wonderful!"

"That's marvellous news!"

"You must be so pleased!"

"Yes I am, thank you," Isobel smiled warmly at her colleagues, excusing herself to go and make a cup of tea. It was only when she was alone in the corridor that her smile faltered, for it hadn't been her darling boy that had written to tell her about the wedding. It had been his fiancée. The letter hadn't said much; only that he'd turned up unexpectedly, having been granted leave for a week, and that they had decided on a Christmas wedding, with the reassurance that he would surely write to her soon, once he was settled again.

Isobel sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. He was in France, he was only hours away and yet she had no idea where he was. She returned to desk and started reading through another stack of letters.

* * *

_Arras, France_

"Damned shame about the Australians." The general spoke suddenly and turned to the younger man at his side.

"Sir?"

"At least a thousand dead at Lagnicourt."

"Didn't the Germans suffer a heavier loss though?"

"Oh, yes, but you'd rather not lose any chaps that are on your side, eh Crawley?"

"No sir."

"And at least we have the Canadians with us again. Damned good chaps, don't you agree Captain Stevens?" He glanced at the other man.

"I do, sir."

"Right, well then; Crawley, Stevens, you know what you're doing? On the whistle?"

"Sir." The two younger men nodded, saluted and left the tent, replacing their helmets as they walked quickly back to the trench, flinching with each explosion in the near distance.

"How long have we got?"

"Forty minutes. Lieutenant Brown should have started to get them ready at my end." Matthew checked his watch and tugged on his gloves.

"And they want everyone going over?"

"Apart from the medics. I think they're worried that it might be as bad as the Somme." They both stopped and stared off into the trenches.

"Well, best of luck to you Crawley. See you on the other side." Captain Stevens held out his hand, which Matthew shook with a rueful smile.

"On the other side," he repeated before carrying on down the trench, eventually reaching his dugout, nodding at William as he entered.

"Have you got everything you need Mason?"

"Yes sir. If you don't mind, I was thinking of writing to Daisy, if there's time."

"Of course, go ahead. We've got about half an hour." William nodded and sat down at the desk, while Matthew sank onto the cot, reaching into his pocket for the little toy dog.

* * *

"Am I ready Mason?"

"Only you can answer that sir." William offered Matthew a small smile as he straightened the belts on his uniform.

"They're going to chuck everything they've got at us." Matthew swallowed, his stomach churning. Everything about this time felt different. The minutes had passed quicker than he would have ever wanted them to, and his meeting with the general already felt like it was hours ago, belonging to another day.

"Then we shall have to chuck it back, won't we sir?" They looked at each other for a moment, the same look of fear passing over both of their faces. They had made it through the Somme, made it back to England and Mary and Daisy after that. Surely, _surely_, they would do the same now.

"Quite right." Matthew's voice was hoarse as he reached for his helmet, nodding as William reached for his rifle, both taking a deep breath before heading outside.

The air was thick, heavy, tense, and full of smoke. Some of the men were smoking, some were praying, and Matthew felt that uneasy lurch in his stomach once more. Taking another deep breath he looked around and called out clearly.

"Now there's no point pretending that this is going to be easy." He turned and saw a young soldier wiping his nose. "How are you Thompson? Have you shaken that cold?" His brow furrowed in concern as he softened his voice. Some of his men weren't men at all, but boys. Tall and old-looking for their age. He could count on both hands the number he had discovered that were too young and shouldn't have signed up. They should not be here, should not be in this hell. None of them should.

"I'm alright now, thank you sir." Matthew nodded and swallowed, fighting against his thoughts.

"We're nearly there chaps! Just hold fast. It won't be long now!"

"We're with you sir," another young soldier piped up from the crowd.

"I know you are Wakefield," Matthew smiled. "I can't tell you how much lighter that makes the task." They all nodded, and some unspoken agreement passed between the men. There for their leader, as he was for them. There for each other. Matthew lifted his watch and inhaled deeply. Minutes to go. He took another deep breath and closed his eyes as a silence fell across them, broken only by the blasts from no man's land, mere feet away. Just then, the faint sound of someone singing could be heard. Matthew turned his head to see where it was coming from, smiling weakly as more voices joined in as it travelled along the line of waiting soldiers.

"…_Pack up your troubles in your old kit-bag and smile, smile, smile. While you've a lucifer to light your fag, smile, boys, that's the style." _

Matthew caught William's eye and nodded, opening his mouth as he joined in, pushing away memories of when he last sang. Only a couple of weeks ago, yet already part of another lifetime. With Mary. Squeezing his eyes shut, he forced her out. Not here. Not _now_. Instead, singing louder, pouring every ounce of feeling into the song.

"_What's the use of worrying? It never was worthwhile, so pack up your troubles in your old kit-bag and smile, smile, smile."_

He checked the time again. Now.

"FIX BAYONETS!"

The clanking and scraping of metal against metal. The ticking of his watch. His heart pounding. He brought the cold whistle to his lips, assaulted with memories, and pulled his pistol from its pouch.

Ten, nine, eight…

They shuffled and climbed the ladders.

Six, five, four…

His hand gripped the rung…

Two…one…

He took a deep breath and blew it and they all moved, hurrying up the ladders, up over the top.

* * *

_Downton, England_

"Come on Diamond, one jump. Just that small one there," Mary murmured, smiling as the horse happily sped up and cleared the brook with ease. She patted his neck and they carried on, and she let her mind wander as she often had in the past week. They were having a church wedding at Christmas, on Boxing Day. He would wear his mess kit, of course. She would wear ivory; nothing too showy, but still elegant, and they would honeymoon in Scotland where they would – _could_ – repeat the…events of that blissful day. Sighing happily, Mary realised that they were close to another jump that Diamond had taken many countless times before.

They sped up, charging through the field, and Mary grinned as she felt the wind on her face, in her hair, exhilarating and refreshing. She nudged her heel against the horse, urging him on. The fence came into view, faster and faster she urged the horse… Leaning into him as he prepared to jump…

But at the last moment, she felt a chill in her veins and instinctively pulled the reins, causing Diamond to stumble as he stopped; the horse letting out a high-pitched whine as the air around them cooled suddenly.

* * *

_Paris, France_

Isobel stood up and stretched, it had been a while since she'd moved, her eyes aching from trying to decipher the hurried script of anxiously written tear-stained letters and matching them up to the paperwork from the front line.

"I'm going to make some tea, would anyone else care for some?" She needed something to do, a strange weight had settled in her chest and she couldn't understand it. Perhaps it was tiredness. That, and the constant worry for her son.

"Oh I will, but I'll make it; you sit down Mrs Crawley." The young nurse stood and smiled eagerly at Isobel.

"Oh, nonsense, Charlotte. I can manage to make some tea."

She made her way to the small kitchen and lit the stove, wishing she had something to distract herself from her thoughts in here. She pulled out the teapot and readied the tea-leaves without even thinking about it, her body acting independently of her mind.

All of a sudden, she shivered and her hands fumbled, sending a china cup to the floor where it shattered into a hundred tiny fragments.

* * *

_Arras, France_

They charged forwards, shouting and aiming their rifles, blinded by the smoke of the blasts as the shells hit and exploded, ducking and diving and weaving around the huge craters, catching glimpses of other men as they moved faster, fell down… The loud blasts and steady rhythm of the machine-gun fire covered the sound of shouts and cries as men were injured…knocked to the ground…killed. Further and further they pushed across, dropping to their fronts and crawling to avoid the artillery fire, the canons cracking loudly around them…

Another blast. Matthew felt the heat from it and dropped his head, shielding his eyes from the debris that hit him; soil and rocks and bits of metal. Something struck his arm, was he injured? He couldn't tell. He carried on, ducking his head again as another blast – further away – exploded and he paused before moving again. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mason, head low and rifle straight. He looked behind him and raised his arm, urging his men to follow him.

"FORWARD!" They had to keep going. They just had to.

Halfway.

He could just about see the barbed wire of the German lines. He ducked behind an over-turned cart, just as there was another blast. Louder, closer, hotter, sending a deep shudder through the very ground they stood on, the noise ringing in their ears.

He crouched and started to move on his front, shuffling along on his arms, avoiding the rain of bullets from the German guns. He looked to the side and saw many of his men doing the same. Closer and closer they inched towards their target. Another shell. Another blast. He felt himself lifted off the ground and flung upwards, landing awkwardly in a deep puddle…

Matthew opened his eyes and blinked, trying to rid them of the dirt and grit. He shook his head and looked up, aware of his surroundings once more as another blast, and another, and another. He hauled himself to his feet, picking up his gun, and ran forwards…

Something hit him in the chest. Sharp, stinging, and so painful that he sank to his knees. He gasped for breath as he collapsed into the mud, his vision going blurry, the sounds around him suddenly muffled. He pressed his hand to his chest and pulled it away, his head spinning as he noticed that it was red. It hadn't been red before; his gloves were brown. He shook his head… Oh _GOD_ – the pain, it lanced through him like fire and his head was swimming…

"_Leave him Isobel. He'll never learn if we coddle him." She nodded and watched as her six year old son looked at the branches in front of him, cautiously reaching for one and pulling himself up, kicking against the trunk of the tree as he clambered onto the low branch. He reached again, aiming higher than before; his confidence growing as he successfully reached the next one. But then he stumbled, his little hands slipped and he fell. Isobel's hand flew to her mouth and she moved forwards, halted by the gentle tug of her husband's hand around her arm, turning as he shook his head. "Watch."_

_Matthew sat up and scrubbed his tears away, smearing dirt on his face and rubbing his knee, before standing and looking at the tree again, taking his time to choose a different branch, a different way up. This time he moved slowly, reaching the top with a triumphant smile. "Look at me Papa!"_

"_That's my boy!" Reginald rushed forwards and held out his arms for the boy to jump into, catching him and ruffling the floppy blonde hair. "You learnt something important there my boy." The child looked so serious – so like his mother – that Reginald couldn't help but smile. "If you don't succeed at first, don't give up. You must always try again."_

Pain throbbed through him, he felt sick and cold, and he was vaguely aware that he was moving. His eyes drifted open and closed. Someone was talking, weren't they? He couldn't tell. He tried to open his mouth but he didn't think anyone would hear. It was all so muffled. How could they hear him when he couldn't hear them?

"_What's your name then?"_

"_Matthew Crawley. You?"_

"_Stephen Thompson. What are you here to study then?"_

"_Law."_

"_Oh same as me. Do you want a cigarette Crawley?"_

"_No thank you." He looked around nervously._

"_Are you alright?"_

"_Yes, I suppose I am. I've just…never really been away from home before." He blushed at the admission, dropping his gaze to the floor. Surely this was not a good start. He was eighteen. He shouldn't be feeling homesick, though he knew that it was more than just that. The other boy's face softened suddenly, his green eyes filled with warmth._

"_Me either," his voice dropped to a whisper. "I was never a boarder. I went to grammar school." He smiled as if this was a great secret, and Matthew instantly felt a little better._

His head was spinning, and he was falling, and he felt so dreadfully cold, like ice and yet he was sure that he was also on fire. It hurt to breathe, hurt to move. Everything ached and throbbed and there was red. So much red, but they wore green. There were shouts, but it was all so muffled. Things were flashing in his mind, thick and fast, and he was confused, so confused...

"_I love you," she murmured against his chest, pressing herself even closer to him, his arms tightening around her._

"_Thank you," he pressed his lips to her hair, comforted by the feel of her soft and warm in his arms._

"_What for?" She lifted her head and met his gaze, her cheeks pink and her eyes dark._

"_Because I knew you did, but that's the first time you've said it properly."_

"_Oh Matthew," she moved and pressed her lips to his. "I do. So much." They kissed again, slow and bittersweet, knowing that they didn't have long left before they would have to get dressed and leave their Eden._

Mary. Where was Mary? She would make everything better. She was soft and warm, and pretty, and her skin was like silk. Maybe this was a dream and he'd wake up safe and in her arms. Mary, with long dark hair and big dark eyes, and slender limbs. Mary who he loved, and who loved him. He felt cold again. Everything was blurry and muffled and cold, so cold, and God – he ached. There was that pain in his chest again. It still hurt…and he couldn't breathe and everything was spinning, and he wasn't sure what was real and what wasn't, and then there was Mary smiling and saying yes, and with tears in her eyes, but why was she crying? He loved her, and he reached out his hand for her, for Mary…

And then everything went black.

* * *

_26__th__ April 1917_

"Are you alright milady?" Mary looked up startled, fighting a yawn as Anna came into focus.

"Oh. Yes. Thank you Anna."

"If you don't mind my saying so milady, I could make your excuses if you wanted to rest this afternoon." Mary blinked and looked in the mirror. She didn't look that tired, though she knew she was exhausted. She hadn't slept properly for a few days, and she didn't know why.

"Thank you. I think I'll go out on Diamond. He's been quite restless this week. Maybe it will do us both some good."

* * *

Mary looked at the sky warily. Grey and cloudy, as it had been since Monday, not at all like the springs she was used to. She took the reins from the stable-boy, patting Diamond's neck, hoping to soothe the skittish, nervous creature.

"Come on boy. Nothing to be afraid of," she muttered as the moved out of the yard, walking slowly. She didn't want to push him, not today; she could tell that he was agitated, or maybe he knew that she was.

* * *

"My lord, there's a telegram for you." Carson handed the envelope to Robert, who looked at it curiously for a moment before ripping it open. His eyes skimmed the words, and he gasped, forcing himself to read them again, because surely he'd misread. It couldn't be. It just couldn't…

"My lord?" Carson's hand reached for Robert's arm, having seen the colour drain from the Earl's face, his mouth open in horror and his eyes filled with tears. Robert staggered back and leaned over the desk, breathing deeply as he tried to comprehend… The words swam round his mind and he felt very sick. After a few minutes, he seemed to regain some of his composure and he stood, turning to face the butler.

"Forgive me Carson, but I have received some terrible news." He handed the piece of paper to the other man, closing his eyes as he imagined him reading over the same few words that he had.

* * *

"Excuse me, milady, but you're wanted in the library," Mrs Hughes appeared in front of Mary, holding out her hands to take her hat, coat and gloves. The housekeeper's eyes were red and her voice was hoarse and Mary froze, panic and fear coursing through her.

"Who has asked to see me?" Her voice didn't sound right. It sounded too high, and she could feel her heart start to race.

"His Lordship."

"Thank you Mrs Hughes." Mary slowly made her way into the library, catching the curious glances from the officers and nurses that she walked past them. Everything was suddenly going very slowly.

"There you are." Her parents turned as she entered, and their eyes were red too, and Edith and Sybil were stood clutching each other's hands, and she could just see a thin piece of paper in her father's hand. "I've received a telegram."

She knew, then. Knew why everyone's eyes were red, knew why a strange silence had settled on the house, knew why her sisters and mother were quietly sobbing. Knew what her father was going to tell her. There was only one reason to receive a telegram during a war. Only one reason that her father in particular would receive one.

"What does it say?" It was barely louder than a whisper.

"Mary-"

"No, I want to know exactly what it says." She wanted - _needed_ - to hear it.

Robert stared at her for a moment, knowing that somehow she already knew. He closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath, reciting the words that were now burnt into his memory.

"Captain Matthew Crawley, Duke of Manchester's Own, killed in action, twenty-third of April nineteen-seventeen."

* * *

_A/n: I know. And I'm sorry; more sorry than you could ever imagine. There are still a couple of chapters to go though, so I hope you'll stick with it until the end._

_Thank you so much for reading._


	13. Chapter 13

_Firstly, thank you so much for the amazing responses to the last chapter! I was, and still am, completely overwhelmed by all of your comments. I know it was risky, and hard to read, and not what you wanted to happen, so if you're still reading – thank you. I really do appreciate all of your support. :) _

_Secondly, apologies for the delay, but I was struck with writer's block with this chapter. It just did not want to be written AT ALL. _

_Finally, just remember that canon is HAPPY!_

_*Edit - you may want to have some tissues ready before you read this... (Sorry!)_

* * *

Chapter 13

_26__th__ April 1917_

_Captain Matthew Crawley…killed in action._

_Matthew._

_Killed._

So this, _this_, was what it felt like when the world came crashing down, she thought. This strange spinning, crushing sensation that stole the breath from her lungs yet kept her rooted to the spot. It hadn't happened when Patrick had died. He hadn't been important enough to her, not in that way anyway. It had crumbled a little after Pamuk, but it had kept on turning, though she was older, wiser, and warier after that. It hadn't collapsed when he'd taken back his proposal, when he'd left, when he'd been missing; it had still just carried as if these things hadn't mattered, but now...

She swallowed and blinked, a thousand half-formed thoughts flitting through her mind as her eyes stung with tears. He'd been missing and been injured and he'd made it back to her… So this…couldn't be right. He hadn't promised before and he'd always returned, but this time he had promised, and Matthew didn't break his promises. This was a mistake. It had to be. Surely there were cases of mistaken identities… Or maybe he'd gone missing again, lost in the battlefield, and he'd turn up in a few days…they just assumed he'd been killed because they couldn't find him. He couldn't be dead though. He just _couldn't_ be.

"You're wrong," she said quietly, defiantly, her mouth dry, ignoring the churning in her stomach.

"Mary, I telephoned the War Office and they confirmed it." Robert clenched his jaw as a fresh wave of pain rocked through him, unable to tear his eyes away from his daughter's.

"I don't believe you."

"Mary-" Cora stepped forwards, her hands reaching out for her eldest child.

"No. This is wrong, this is all wrong." She was shaking her head, trying to clear her thoughts, when something occurred to her and just like that she knew what she had to do, and she swept out of the room without even a second glance at her family.

"Shouldn't we go after her?"

"No Cora, leave her," Robert spoke sadly, his eyes still on the doorway. "Just leave her for now."

"Papa's right," Sybil spoke quietly, wiping her face and smoothing her hands down her dress. "Do you think Cousin Isobel knows?"

That seemed to snap Robert out of his trance and he turned to look at his youngest daughter, his eyes filling with tears once more.

"I'd imagine so yes. I can telephone the Red Cross and ask though." He looked at them all for a moment, seemingly lost in a thought. "Do you know, I think I might just step out with Isis for a bit." His wife and daughters nodded, and he kissed them all on the cheek as he called the dog and headed outside.

* * *

Mary hurried through the house and down to the garage. It was wrong. Papa was wrong. Matthew couldn't be dead. He just couldn't be. It was a mistake. She'd show them. She'd go and look for him herself if she had to.

"Branson, I need you to start the car." She stopped and peered down at the pair of legs that were sticking out from underneath the motor. He pulled himself out and stood up, wiping his hands on an oily rag, taking in the slightly wild eyes and the riding clothes of the lady in front of him. He knew; they all did; Mr Carson had told them not long after his lordship had spoken to the War Office.

"Are you alright milady? Would you like me to take you wherever you need to go?"

"I need to go to London. The car, if you wouldn't mind Branson. I'm afraid I'm in rather a hurry." The chauffeur sighed, his eyes closing briefly; he liked – _had_ liked, he corrected himself sadly – Captain Crawley, and all he could think of now was when Lady Mary and the captain had gone out for the day, pulling out of the garage with broad smiles and bright eyes, teasing each other, laughing together…

"Are you sure that's wise milady?" Mary drew herself up to her full height and stared at Branson.

"Yes, I must go. And if you won't take me, I'll drive myself. Now do your job and start the car." He stood watching her, seeing the pain in her eyes, and knowing that she was fighting against the truth. She stared at him again for a moment before sighing loudly and moving to do it herself, sinking to the floor as she reached for the hand-crank, pushing and pulling at it, struggling to move it.

"This is…broken!" She pushed against it once more. "If you don't fix this, I will have you sacked Branson."

"Milady-" He knew that she didn't mean it, but he couldn't stop the swell of panic in his chest, even as he went to kneel at her side. She batted her hands away, continuing to tug at the lever.

"NO! This is…broken!" Her hands ached, and her legs ached, and her hair was coming loose from its pins, and her heart was breaking as she started to hit the front of the car in frustration. "No, no. This can't be… It can't… He promised – he said... He…_promised_." She gave in then, and her whole body shook with the force of her sobs as she sank against the car, her hands covering her face as the tears fell.

It wasn't long before a pair of strong arms wrapped around her and pulled her against a solid chest.

"Now then, milady, let's get you back inside." She shook her head, hearing the tremor of emotion in the old butler's voice. A hand smoothed over her hair and she shook again, her heart breaking over and over with every fresh wave of tears that poured down her face.

* * *

"Excuse me your ladyship, but Mrs Patmore was wondering about dinner." Cora turned away from the window as Mrs Hughes slowly entered the drawing room.

"Oh… Well the officers will dine as normal, and the girls can have whatever they want on a tray if they feel like it. Lord Grantham and I will also have a tray if we ring. He won't want to dress for dinner."

"Very good your ladyship. May I ask…how is Lady Mary?" Cora's eyes filled with fresh tears and she blinked quickly to try and get rid of them.

"She's… She's in her room with Lady Edith and Lady Sybil," she sighed and blinked again, unable to stop her tears this time. "Mrs Hughes, I'm going to retire. Please send up O'Brien when you see her."

* * *

"Is she asleep?" Sybil whispered to Edith, both turning to look at their elder sister, who was still dressed with a blanket tangled around her, her hair loose around her shoulders, her chest rising and falling slowly with deep, steady breaths.

"Yes." Edith nodded and wiped her eyes once more. She didn't think that they had stopped crying since Carson had brought Mary back inside. They'd never seen her like this before; so broken and vulnerable, and it scared them more than they would ever admit to see their strong, brave, proud sister so completely heartbroken. They both looked at the hand that was clutching the blanket, the engagement ring shining in the low light. "Do you think she'll be alright?"

"I don't know," Sybil answered after a moment, biting her lip as she glanced at Edith, and then back at Mary. "I really don't know."

* * *

_28__th__ April 1917_

A dark cloud had descended on the village of Downton, as if the weather itself knew what had been lost, and Isobel sighed as she stepped off the train with a heavy head and a broken heart, still barely able to grasp the news – the far too harsh reality – that her darling boy was dead.

She took a deep breath, willing her tears back under control as she saw Branson, noticing a black band around his arm, briefly wondering who he could be mourning before she realised. He stepped forwards and took her bags.

"I'm very sorry for your loss Mrs Crawley," his voice was low as he led her to the car and helped her in.

"Thank you Branson. How is Lady Mary?" She swallowed thickly, blinking away her tears once more as she thought of the young woman who was almost like a daughter to her now, who would have _been_ her daughter if…

"She's not good ma'am. Mrs Hughes says that she hasn't left her room." Isobel nodded, and they continued the rest of the journey in silence.

* * *

"His lordship and her ladyship are waiting in the drawing room for you Mrs Crawley." Isobel nodded as she handed her coat and hat to Carson. "I'd like to say, if I may, on behalf of all of the staff here, how sorry we are. Captain Crawley was a fine man and he will be missed."

"Thank you Carson. I do appreciate that." The butler bowed his head and Isobel walked through the hall, smiling weakly at the officers and nurses that offered their condolences as she passed them.

"Isobel, how are you?" Cora rose and reached for the other woman's hand as the door clicked shut behind them.

"I can honestly say that I have been better." They nodded and sat down as Robert stepped away from the window.

"Thank you for coming straight here, but I thought you'd want to know as soon as possible." Isobel looked at Robert, seeing the same sadness in his eyes that she knew was in hers. "I've spoken to the War Office, and they're…going to send him back. He'll be back in England in a few days. They're going to keep me informed." Isobel swallowed as she processed the information. She knew that it was rare for soldiers to make it home after…_after_. Rare, and incredibly expensive.

"Cousin Robert, I can't possibly… You must let me pay you back." He held up his hand and shook his head.

"No. Don't think of it. It is…as much of a loss to me – to all of us – as it is to you. You just need to…let me know, when you've had some time, if you would like him to be buried here, or in Manchester so that I can make the appropriate arrangements." Isobel nodded and swallowed, feeling the lump in her throat again.

"Thank you. What does Mary say about all of this?"

"She said…that it's up to you." Cora's voice was thick with emotion at the mention of her daughter.

"I see."

The door opened then, and Carson walked in, followed by Violet who greeted Isobel with the same hand squeeze that Cora had.

"Cousin Isobel, I'm so very sorry." The two older women looked at each other and Isobel nodded gratefully as Violet sat down. "Well, I suppose it's a good thing that Mary hadn't chosen a dress."

"Really Mama, is that necessary?" Robert sighed and briefly turned to the window as Cora's eyes widened in horror.

"I only meant that we wouldn't want her to turn into Miss Havisham. That would be dreadfully sad." Isobel couldn't help but smile at Violet's comment, relieved that someone didn't feel the need to tread on eggshells around her, even though the mention of Mary jolted something within Isobel, and she knew that she couldn't put it off any longer.

"Speaking of Mary, may I see her?"

* * *

Mary sighed; wishing whoever was tapping on the door would leave her alone. She'd finally gotten rid of Sybil; she didn't want someone else to disturb her now. She could feign sleep and maybe they'd go away when she didn't answer. The handle rattled and Mary was glad that she had locked the door. There was only one person that she wanted to see.

"Mary? May I come in?" At the sound of Isobel's voice, she got up and padded across the room, turning the key and slowly opening the door, the all too familiar ache rising through her as she looked at the older woman – pale, tired, red-rimmed eyes, much like herself. Mary moistened her lips and nodded, her hands twitching restlessly against her skirt as she perched on the edge of her bed, saying the first thing that popped into her head and regretting it instantly.

"How are you?"

If Isobel was surprised by the question, she didn't show it, instead casting her eyes over the younger woman in front of her, whose shoulders were hunched and who was biting her lip. Isobel didn't think she had ever seen someone look so young and yet so old at the same time.

"Tired," she answered honestly. Well, as honestly as she could. Isobel didn't know how to explain the black hole in her chest, the constant ache in her heart every time she thought of Matthew. She knew that Mary might understand to an extent. But Mary was not a mother who had lost her child. It was a different sort of loss entirely.

Mary attempted to smile and nodded, her eyes filling with tears again.

"I'm so dreadfully sorry. I suppose…" she trailed off and swallowed, her eyes shutting briefly as she pulled the ring off and held it out, feeling another piece of her heart shatter as she did. "…that you'll want this back."

Isobel crossed the room and sat next to Mary, taking the younger woman's hand in her own and curling her fingers back around the ring, meeting her tearful gaze.

"No. He gave that to you. He wanted you to have it. _I_ want you to have it."

"If…you're sure." Isobel nodded, still holding Mary's hands in hers. They sat in silence for a moment, dwelling on their thoughts until Mary spoke again. "Did you see him…before he… Before?"

"No. But…afterwards-" Isobel's breath hitched at the memory.

She had received the telegram just as she had been about to leave for the night, and once she had recovered from the initial shock and had some sweet tea – forced on her by one of the other nurses – and made a frantic telephone call, she had hurried back to her room and hastily packed a small bag before one of the ambulance drivers had taken her to the hospital. They had driven for almost four hours in the dark, the winding roads seemingly endless as they drove through village after village, until they eventually reached Arras.

She had been taken to him by a very kind nurse who reminded her of Sybil, and on first entering the room she had come face to face with William, who had a bandaged arm and head, and told her that he hadn't wanted to leave Captain Crawley until she got there.

Then she saw him, her dear boy. Lying on a stretcher as if he was asleep, his uniform covered with mud and blood, his face clean of dirt but bearing cuts and scratches. A dark stain covered the right side of his uniform, and as she looked more closely, she could see a hole in the fabric…

And it was then that Isobel had cried; deep sobs that rocked through her as she had knelt at his side and clutched his hand, her heart shattering as she reached to smooth his hair from his forehead. Her darling, wonderful boy; pale and battered and broken by war.

"I wish I could have seen him," Mary muttered, startling Isobel from her thoughts.

"No you don't my dear," Isobel answered, squeezing her hands as they fell into silence once more.

"He's really gone, isn't he?" Mary whispered after several minutes.

"I'm afraid so," Isobel replied softly, with a small nod, feeling the sting in her eyes as she pulled Mary to her.

Mary knew then; knew just how Isobel might be feeling – as if her heart had been pulled from her chest and crushed into a thousand pieces. Everyone else was sad, but they didn't understand. They didn't love him like she did, like Isobel did, and as she brought her hand to her face she felt Isobel's hands smooth over her hair and back, and together they wept; united in their grief and sharing their pain as they clung to each other.

* * *

_3__rd__ May 1917_

"Mr Harville for you, ma'am." Molesley stood aside to let the gentleman into the sitting room, and closed the door behind him as he left to fetch the tea.

"Mrs Crawley, Lady Mary, thank you for agreeing to see me. I'm very sorry for your loss. Captain Crawley…well, he was a good man. I know that you must have an awful lot to think about at the moment, but I shan't be long." He smiled at the two women, but only received a response from the older one.

"Thank you for coming, I know that Matthew-" Isobel faltered on his name. It hurt to hear it, hurt to say it… All of it hurt. "I know that he enjoyed working for you." Mr Harville smiled in thanks before opening his briefcase and pulling out a file of papers.

"I wanted to see you before the funeral. I didn't think it would be appropriate then."

"Appropriate?" Mary looked up and turned to look at the man, his grave expression giving nothing away.

"Yes, you see, I wanted to see you both, because I have Captain Crawley's will."

* * *

Almost an hour, some tea, and a lot of questions later, Mr Harville gathered his things together, pulling one last envelope out of his briefcase before he stood.

"This is for you Lady Mary. It's not been opened. Captain Crawley was insistent that you receive it in the event of his death." Mary's eyes widened as she took the envelope. "You don't need to open it now. From what I understand, it is…quite personal in nature. Anyway, I have taken up too much of your time for today. I'll see you both tomorrow."

Isobel rang the bell for Molesley, glancing at Mary who was staring at the envelope.

"Are you going to open it now?"

"No." Mary looked up, dragged from her thoughts, her fingers tightening on the paper before her. "I think I'll leave it until later. There was an awful lot to take in. Are you sure you don't mind about the money?"

Isobel resumed her seat, her dark eyes observing Mary closely.

"Of course not, my dear." They lapsed back into silence, the air between them filled with all they had learnt from Matthew's employer.

* * *

_4__th__ May 1917_

Mary felt a hand curl around hers and squeeze it, inhaling sharply as she saw her sister's sympathetic expression. It had been so much easier when they fought, when they could be cruel and push each other. But now… Kindness was worse than cruelty, and Mary hated it; hated their hushed tones and anxious glances in her direction, hated how she couldn't say his name out-loud, not even to Isobel.

"I'm alright," she said before anyone asked, her other hand clutching her bag, feeling the weight of the still unopened letter in it.

The walk to the church took longer than it ever had before, and as they got closer, Mary began to feel sick. She knew who would be there, and thoughts of another occasion where they should be meeting in the church intruded, filling her eyes with tears. But she would not cry, not today, and so she blinked rapidly, clearing them and taking a deep breath as Isobel approached her.

They greeted the other mourners, and then it was time to go in. Her gaze was immediately drawn to the wooden box at the front. The wooden box that contained her fiancé. Everything was spinning again. He was there, in front of her, but none of it – absolutely none of it – was how it should be, and it hurt. How could he be there, in the same place as her, and yet…not be there at all? Mary swallowed, willing away the lump in her throat and the sharp stabbing pain in her chest. She would not cry though. Not here, not today.

Someone touched her elbow and she started, turning to face the person that had interrupted her thoughts.

"Evelyn!" He smiled nervously.

"Hello. I hope you don't mind my being here, but I thought that I should…pay my respects."

"That's very kind of you, but you only met him once." The words were out before she'd thought about them properly, and it sent another wave of memories crashing over her.

"Twice, actually," Evelyn smiled ruefully.

"Ma- He never said." She couldn't say it, even now when he was only a few feet away from her, and it ached.

"I doubt he would have remembered the second time. You see, he saved me." It was then that Mary noticed Evelyn's vice-like grip on a cane. He followed her gaze and let out a strange noise that was almost like a laugh. "I got hit, and he carried me back to the trenches. I didn't know who it was at first, and I remember his voice had sounded familiar, and then someone said Crawley… He didn't recognise me, but I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for Matthew, so I thought that it was only right."

Mary nodded, "Thank you. Your injury…isn't too serious, I hope?" She nodded at the cane, desperate to change the subject.

"No, not really, but it was enough to get me invalided out."

"Don't listen to him Lady Mary. He almost didn't walk again." A young woman had appeared at their side and Mary glanced between her and Evelyn.

"Mary, this is my fiancée Catherine." Her eyes widened, the word ringing loudly in her ears. She straightened up and forced a smile.

"Well, congratulations. How marvellous. If you'll excuse me…" They nodded and Mary walked back to her family.

The service started, the music making Mary's hands clench into fists, pulling her gloves tight across her knuckles, the outline of the ring visible through the leather. People were speaking, and they were standing for the hymns, but Mary's eyes remained fixed on the coffin, the crushing weight settling in her chest.

Hymn after hymn, prayer after prayer… Mary glanced at Isobel and saw the tear tracks on her cheek, reaching and briefly clasping her hand. And then just like that, it was time to go outside. To lay the coffin in the ground and bury him. And it was too much.

Mary stood and hurried out of the church, leaning against the wall and pressing her hand to her mouth as she gasped for breath, feeling sick and dizzy in the spring heat, not caring if anyone saw her, if anyone had even noticed that she'd left, not caring about any of it. What was the point? He wasn't there. She heard the congregation shuffle to their feet, and knew she had to get away from there. Pushing herself away from the wall, she started walking, not thinking about where she was going, but not being surprised when she found herself drawn to Crawley House. She lingered for a moment, her hand resting on the gate, flooding with memories of every time she had visited – the day that the house had become occupied again, tea and dinners with Isobel, that day after their picnic, the previous day's meeting with the lawyer…

Dragging herself away, she walked towards her home, not stopping until she was in her bedroom, locking the door behind her and pulling out the letter. It was time. With shaking fingers she gently pulled open the envelope and unfolded the paper, her breath hitching at the tear-stained letter as her own tears fell and blurred her vision.

_10__th__ April 1917_

_My darling Mary,_

_If you are reading this then it means that I have met my end. I'm so, so sorry, my love, to leave you, because God knows, I wouldn't have left you if I had any choice in the matter. I can't imagine never seeing your beautiful face again, or holding you in my arms, or smiling at you across the dinner table… You have made the past months some of the happiest of my life, and I'm glad – so very, very glad my darling – that we were given a second chance to make things right._

_I told you once that I wasn't going to make a promise I couldn't keep, and you've probably wondered why I had a change of heart. The truth is…that I never stopped wanting to marry you. Even when we parted, part of me still loved you, still wanted to marry you, and as we became friends again, I tried to fight it because I didn't know how you felt, and I couldn't bring myself to hope… And even after everything, I still had no intention to propose until the war was over, but it was a conversation with your father that made me realise that I am indeed a fool at times. What good – what comfort – was a promise to you? And I know that if you're reading this, then I have broken another promise, and I'm sorry. You must know how sorry I am._

_I hope, my dear, that you're not still upset about this afternoon. It was the most wonderful day of my life, and I can't regret it. How could I? So you mustn't either. I hope very much to be able to tell you all of this in person, so that I can burn this letter, but if the worst has happened, and you are reading it, I still don't want you to regret what we did._

_Please look after Mother; she'll need you more than she'll ever let on. And you'll need her, so look after each other._

_God Mary, I didn't want to write this, but every time I've made it home, it has been a miracle, and every time I've left you, I've worried that it would be the last time, and I'm so sorry if reading this causes you pain, I don't want it to; I want you to be happy. I want you to move on and meet someone else and be happy, with my love. And I do love you, so very, very much. I know you didn't like me to be flowery and romantic, but I think that we can both make an exception in this case. I love you and I miss you every single day, and I'm just sorry, for all of it._

_Love, always,_

_Matthew._

_P.S. Just remember this…_

"_O my Love's like a red, red rose,  
That's newly sprung in June:  
O my Love's like the melody,  
That's sweetly played in tune. _

_As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,  
So deep in love am I;  
And I will love thee still, my dear,  
Till a' the seas gang dry. _

_Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,  
And the rocks melt with the sun;  
And I will love thee still, my dear,  
While the sands o' life shall run. _

_And fare-thee-well, my only Love!  
And fare-thee-well, a while!  
And I will come again, my Love,  
Though 'twere ten thousand mile!"_

* * *

_A/n: I know that was rough, but it was never going to be an easy ride! There's still a bit more to come so I hope you'll continue to stick with it. Thanks for reading!_


	14. Chapter 14

_Hello! I know it's been a while, but this has possibly been the trickiest chapter to write. This is, sadly, the last chapter of this particular tale. I could have carried it on, but it was really quite difficult to write without Matthew there. *Sniffs*_

_Thank you, as ever, for all of your incredible support, I really do appreciate it._

_So for the final time…enjoy!_

* * *

Chapter 14

_8__th__ May 1917_

"…_and I realise now that I probably should have waited to introduce you, so I hope that you'll forgive me, because Catherine and I would like it very much if you could come to the wedding. There's no hurry to answer though. Please look after yourself._

_Regards,_

_Evelyn."_

Mary sighed as she folded the letter back up. A wedding. Quite possibly the last thing that she wanted to attend. She shook her head and closed her eyes, ridding herself of the vaguely unkind thought that had formed in her mind. Her fingers tapped restlessly against the bench. Their bench. Except that it wasn't – couldn't ever be – _their_ bench anymore. She felt the prickle of tears in her eyes and took a deep breath, and another. She couldn't – _wouldn't_ – cry again.

"Excuse me, milady." She looked up, startled, pulled from her reverie by a young man in khaki, his arm bandaged.

"William, sorry, Corporal Mason, how are you?" She straightened and smiled briefly at the man as he shuffled nervously in front of her.

"I'm…alright, thank you, milady. I'm sorry to disturb you but I was wondering if I might speak to you for a moment." Mary's eyes widened before she nodded and indicated for him to sit down. They sat in silence, awkward yet strangely comforting, listening to the soft rustle of the leaves and the birds soaring above them, before William eventually spoke.

"I was wondering…if I might give you something, milady."

"Oh? You don't…have to…"

"No, it was… It was something of Captain Crawley's." Mary's breath hitched at the name and she turned her head sharply to look at William who was pulling something out of the sling on his bad arm, her trembling fingers clutching at her skirt. "It fell out of his pocket at the hospital, and I thought…you'd want it." It was then that he pulled out the object and held it out to Mary, who could not hide her gasp of surprise or ignore the stinging in her eyes. Tentatively, she reached out and took it from him, her fingers curling round it uncertainly.

"Thank you." William smiled sadly and nodded as Mary spoke before looking away and staring off into the distance once more, his mind elsewhere.

"I did…try to save him, milady."

"I'm sure you did-" But William carried on, not hearing Mary's words, his own eyes glazing with tears, the pain in his arm a sharp reminder of what had happened – memories of slipping on the mud as something hit his shoulder, of half-carrying half-dragging Captain Crawley back to the safety of the trenches, of refusing to listen to the medics and officers and doctors as they tried to get him to leave the room at the hospital, assaulted him, fresh and raw in his mind.

"He was at my side and then…he wasn't. I turned and he'd fallen, so I went back. I tried to get 'im back to the trenches as quick as I could, and they wanted me to leave 'im, but I couldn't, and then Mrs Crawley… " William stopped then, as if realising what he'd said and who to, and ducked his head, his face ashen. "I'm sorry milady. I didn't think."

"No, it's…it's quite alright." Mary gripped the toy dog, almost crushing it, as she was flooded with memories and unwelcome thoughts, frowning for a moment before realising and offering William a small smile. "He liked you a great deal William, and I know that…he would have been grateful."

William nodded as he stood, "I'd better go; me dad'll be wondering. I am sorry milady. I liked Captain Crawley, we all did."

Mary swallowed as a lump rose in her throat, blinking away the fresh tears as she turned the toy over in her hands, the soft worn material familiar against her fingertips, before she looked up and met the kind gaze with a warm smile.

"Thank you William, for…everything."

* * *

_22__nd__ May 1917_

"Mrs Crawley is just in the sitting room milady, I'll take you through."

"Thank you Molesley," Mary smiled at the butler as he took her coat and followed him through the house.

"Mary, how are you?" Isobel stood and greeted her with a kiss on the cheek, before resuming her seat, looking carefully at the younger woman as she sat down – not as pale, eyes brighter, better than she had been a few days ago.

"I'm alright, thank you. How are you?" Before she could answer, Molesley entered with the tea, leaving with a polite nod when Isobel said they'd manage.

"Oh, fine. I've had a letter from my cousin, Mrs Thompson, in Bath. She's asked if I want to go and work at the hospital down there. She thinks… She thinks it might be a good idea to…get away from here for a little while." Isobel's smile faltered then and Mary instinctively reached for the other woman's hand and gently clasped it as Isobel blinked away the tears that had filled her eyes with a smile and a deep breath.

"Well, I think it's a marvellous idea. Have you accepted?"

"I'm glad you think so, and yes; I'll be leaving in a week. But I wanted to see you today Mary, because I want to ask if you'd perhaps consider coming with me. Of course you don't have to, but it might do you some good to…get away as well."

Mary straightened, surprised, and reached for her tea.

"It's very kind of you, and your cousin, but I…don't know if I could." But even as she said it, she began to wonder. Getting away. Leaving. There would be no cemetery to visit. Nowhere that would remind her of anything or anyone. And she couldn't decide if that was a comforting thought or not.

"I understand, but you don't have to decide now my dear, and it's an open invitation, so if you did change your mind, you'd only have to write. Please just consider it, at least, before dismissing it completely."

"I promise I'll think about it."

Isobel smiled broadly, and though pain still filled her eyes, Mary thought the older woman looked better than she had for several weeks, and they finished their tea in companionable silence.

* * *

It was a little over a month later when Mary wrote to Isobel and asked if the invitation was still open, which of course it was. She helped Anna to pack her things and a few days later, she boarded the early morning train with a smile and a wave at her mother and sisters, filled with a strange mix of hopeful optimism that she hadn't experienced for quite some time, and an uneasy ache at all that she would be leaving.

Though it was nowhere near as grand as Downton, or even Grantham House in London, the Thompson's house in Bath was pleasant and comfortable, and with a ladies maid whose skill for hair-styling almost rivalled that of Anna's. Mary found that the days passed quickly once she was settled and had established something of a routine. After breakfast, she would go out for a walk, exploring the parks and streets of the unfamiliar city, or she'd write to her sisters, to her mother, her aunt, even to Evelyn, pushing away thoughts of the person that she really wanted to write to.

Mary had been in Bath for almost six weeks when Isobel suggested that perhaps she would like to volunteer at one of the schools, and so she did. It kept her busy, kept her mind occupied, as she introduced the children to tales of the Greeks, to the Gods and heroes and monsters of old, to Shakespeare, and Dickens, and Carroll, ignoring the sharp pain in her chest whenever she came across something that reminded her of her other life, of _him_. She found that as well as being a distraction, she was actually starting to enjoy herself. Matthew was never mentioned, but he was never far from her thoughts. She couldn't forget him even if she'd wanted to.

Summer drew to a close, and with it came a society wedding in London; the wedding of a dear friend. Accompanied by her aunt and still dressed in black, the ring on a delicate chain around her neck, Mary held her head high and smiled broadly, politely, as she talked to the bride and groom and refused to acknowledge the curious glances as she moved around the room, and the thoughts about another wedding that threatened to intrude. Autumn arrived, bringing with it colder weather and rich reds and yellows. Mary still helped at the school, though less often as autumn faded and winter was suddenly upon them. By the time that December had arrived and the snow was thick on the ground, both Mary and Isobel were ready to go home.

* * *

_26__th__ December 1917_

Mary shifted in bed, unable to rest, knowing that she should, even though her thoughts were moving too fast for her to make sense of them and clear them from her mind. A knock on the door startled her and she sat up and smoothed the blankets around her, grateful for the distraction, nodding at the nurse in the corner.

"Come in!" She smiled as her mother entered, carrying a tray of tea and toast.

"How are you feeling my dear?" Cora placed the tray on the bedside table and perched on the edge of the bed, her hands resting in her lap as she watched her daughter take the baby from the nurse, who then left them with a smile and a nod.

"Alright. Tired." Cora nodded and smiled sympathetically as she looked at the young woman on the bed; her heart contracting as she took in the gentle smile and unguarded expression of adoration that was gracing her daughter's features as she gazed in wonder at the small baby in her arms, remembering how she had held each of her three girls in the same way, with that same sense of awe, and quite unable to stop herself, she reached and gently stroked her grandchild's cheek.

"Beautiful," Cora murmured, looking up and meeting Mary's teary smile with one of her own, before leaning in to kiss her eldest child on the forehead. "Now, my dear, there's someone who'd like to see you both, if you wouldn't mind, if you're not too tired."

"No, I don't mind." Mary looked at her mother as she stood and opened the door, indicating for the visitor to enter.

"Carson!" The butler bobbed his head as Cora left them. "Do sit down, please."

"Are you sure milady? I know it's been something of a long day for you."

"I absolutely insist." She smiled broadly as he sat on the chair at her side. "Would you like to hold him?"

Carson's eyes widened in surprise as Mary held out the bundle of blankets to him, nodding as he took them, holding and cradling the child carefully against his chest, her hand reaching out to the blankets, unable to bear being parted from her son even for a moment.

"I know you're probably disappointed in me Carson; it's not quite how things should be, I know." He raised his eyebrows as she looked at him, her free hand clutching at her own blankets.

"Never milady. And in this case, nothing is as it should be." They both looked at the sleeping child for a moment, taking in the fluffy dark hair and the rosebud mouth. "He looks like Captain Crawley, if you don't mind me saying." She shook her head, feeling fresh tears form as the butler handed the baby back to his mother. "A long time ago, in a room down the hall from here, I held another dark-haired baby. She was a treasure, and she grew into a very fine lady." Carson smiled as Mary's eyes widened and she let out a soft laugh.

"Do you want to know what he's called?" She met Carson's gaze and he nodded once. "Charles Matthew. You see Carson; it's not just a butler that has their favourites." The tears fell then and she quickly wiped them away with a smile, suddenly overwhelmed by the emotions that were flooding through her as the baby stirred against her.

"Oh… Milady, thank you," Carson smiled and inhaled sharply and blinked, but Mary had seen the glisten of tears in his eyes, and she knew that she had made the right decision, even as she wiped her own eyes again and pressed a soft kiss to the baby's head. They sat in silence for a moment, the crackling of the fire the only sound that filled the room.

"Are you happy milady?" Carson spoke after several minutes of observing mother and baby, a conversation from years ago springing to his mind.

"I think…I'm as happy as I can be Carson, does that count?" She looked up and tilted her head thoughtfully.

"Only if you mean it milady."

"Then it counts." He nodded and stood.

"I'll leave you to get your rest. He's a bonnie lad. Captain Crawley would be very proud milady."

"Thank you Carson."

They both smiled and Mary swallowed as the butler left, fighting against the tears once more. She looked at her child again, for it felt like it had been a while since she had, and kissed his head, shifting and settling him properly against her chest.

"I wish your Papa could be here to meet you," she murmured, watching in fascination as the baby's eyelids fluttered in sleep, and with that she had an idea. She would write a letter. Carefully, so as not to disturb the baby, she leaned across to her bedside cabinet and reached for the writing things that she kept there. Slowly, she wrote out the date and paused before writing the name. It had been so long since she had written to him and yet his name flowed from the pen as if she had never stopped writing to him, and her heart ached, but this… This had to be done.

_Dear Matthew,_

_How strange it is to write that. It's been so long dearest… Too long. And it's not because I haven't wanted to. It has been almost eight months since you left me, and I can't say that I've quite forgiven you just yet. You see, you left me and you broke a promise, and I know it couldn't be helped, but then you had to go and leave me a letter as well, the words of which are burnt into my mind. I can't forget them, which means I can't forget you, and it hurts. I don't want to forget you; I just want it to feel easier to remember._

_Today is Boxing Day. We should have been married this morning. I should have worn a dress more beautiful than anything you have seen before. There should have been a horse-drawn carriage to take me to the church, to you. You should have been there in your mess kit – you always looked so handsome in that – and we should have been married. Then tomorrow we should have been travelling to Scotland for a week, for our honeymoon. Lots of things should have happened, and none of them did, and I don't think I can tell you how sad I am that they didn't. Couldn't. I know it's not your fault, darling, but if I can't tell you any of this then who can I tell?_

_Today, instead of getting married, I gave birth to your – our – son. It seems that perhaps we should have been more careful that day in April, but I certainly can't regret it now. I'm glad, at least, that I got to know you properly, and that we knew what happiness was before you left._

_Our son was born at half-past ten this morning (after being in labour for almost twelve hours. I'm sure you probably wouldn't have wanted to know that, but there it is), weighing just six pounds. According to Clarkson, that's a good healthy weight even though he was a bit early. Honestly, he felt much heavier when I was carrying him. Isobel said he looks just like you did when you were born. She's pleased, I think. Lord knows what I would have done without her support when I first found out. Papa was furious, but he seems to have accepted it now, especially because I have borne him a grandson._

* * *

_18__th__ June 1917_

Cora's hand gripped her daughter's, flinching as the volume of her husband's voice increased, stepping forwards slightly as if she might shield Mary from his tirade.

"You stupid girl. Have you any idea what you've done? What this means for you, and for the rest of the family? I'll have to send you away this time. As if we haven't faced enough scandal recently."

"Robert, please-"

"No Cora. Mary is a child, and as such will be treated as one. Stupid, foolish girl." They all stood silently for a moment, the air thick around them.

"Papa-"

"I don't want to hear it Mary. You are going to America this time, and there will be no arguments."

"Will you listen to me, please?" Mary raised her own voice and wrenched her hand from Cora's, stepping towards her father as white hot fury burnt through her.

"Why should I when you have done nothing but bring shame on this family? I overlooked your indiscretion with the late Mr Pamuk, but this… This I cannot ignore."

"Papa, please! Yes it was foolish and thoughtless, but I am not solely at fault. Why should Matthew escape blame just because he's dead?" As soon as the words were out, she brought her hand to her mouth, eyes wide in shock, as if she couldn't believe that she'd said it. For the first time since that fateful day in April, she had said his name, said the one thing that she refused to let into her thoughts. Her eyes filled with tears and she shook her head, her voice barely a whisper. "I am sorry Papa."

* * *

_I wish that you could be here, my darling, to meet your son. As I write this, he's asleep in my arms. It's not very easy to write, but I can't quite bring myself to ring for the nurse just yet! To tell you the truth Matthew, I'm scared. I don't know how to be a mother. I never even thought that I wanted to be one, and it would be different if you were here, and I know I mustn't dwell and wish for things that can't be changed. I can't remember what it was like when Edith was born, and even when Sybil was born, I was still too young to understand properly. Sybil wants to help though, and so does Mama, and Isobel, so I think I'll find my way eventually._

_You should know that I'm going to tell him every day about his Papa, and what a good man you were, how kind and generous and clever you were. How brave and honest, and handsome. You would have been a wonderful father to our beautiful boy, I'm sure of it. The money you left me is going to be put into a trust for him, and then whatever happens…his future will be secure, because at the moment, I don't know what will happen. Papa is getting Murray to look into whether Charles could inherit, but if not, I might take him to America and stay with Grandmama, but we'll see._

_Oh, I called him Charles after someone very dear to me. I'm sure you wouldn't mind. Charles Matthew Crawley. Everyone seems pleased with that, but even if they weren't, I wouldn't change it. I wouldn't change any of it. Well, I'd like to stop crying! I can't seem to help it, but apparently that's perfectly normal._

_My darling, I miss you, more than I ever thought was possible, and it's so strange that you're not around and that you will never read this. Do you know that it has only been two years since the Servant's Ball? It seems far longer and yet like no time at all has passed._

_You told me to be happy, and at first I didn't think I ever could be again, but I was trying. It's not easy, but I think now…I could be. Not truly happy, but close enough. Dearest Matthew, I will love you until the last breath leaves my body, and I'm sure you felt the same about me. And now…I'll say goodbye, properly, if only because your son is hungry!_

_All my love. Always,_

_Mary._

She wiped her eyes again and carefully folded the letter, tucking it under her pillow and unfastening the front of her nightgown just as the nurse came back in with a small smile, watching closely and nodding in encouragement as the new mother shifted the baby against her breast.

Mary might not have Matthew, but she would always have a part of him, and that was enough to be happy. And as she looked down at the bundle of blankets in her arms, at the face of her son as he fed, his tiny hands curled into fists, her heart filled with more love than she had thought was possible, she knew that it was the truth.

_**Fin.**_

* * *

_A/n: Well. There we go. I had two possible endings in mind, and this was the one that I thought would work best in the end. And I know after chapter 12, there were calls for her to have a baby, but it was already in the original plan, and obviously I didn't want to say anything! Also, and this a random note, but Lewis Carroll's real name is Charles. :)_

_Thank you so much, from the bottom of my heart, for every single review/favourite/alert/message/kind word, and to everyone that has stuck with it until the end. I know it wasn't easy, and I have cried just as much as I've written it, but all of your support has been overwhelming and amazing, and I really don't think I can thank you all enough._

_Special thanks to __Willa Dedalus__, for many enthusiastic conversations about headcanons and background stories. To __peachdreamsandperseus__ for her wonderful legal insights (even if I didn't use them in the end). Finally, to __smndolphin__ and __Orangeshipper__, who have known from the start how it was going to turn out, who have listened to me go on and on when I've tried to talk myself out of writing it, and whose friendship and support I could not have done without. They have held my hand, they have always listened and helped me figure things out, and if it wasn't for either of them, this story would not be what it is now, so ladies, thank you both. You're both darlings and I love you._

_Nothing left to say, just…thank you all again. I can't tell you just how much it means to me, and how sad I am now that this is over!_


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